mm 


" 


HAVK    A     PRESENT     FOR     VOT A     SISTKK 


DR.  LAVENDAR'S 
PEOPLE 


BY 

MARGAKET    DELAND 

AUTHOR  OF   "OLD  CHESTER  TALES11 
ILLUSTRATED  BT 

LUCIUS  HITCHCOCK 


NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 
HARPER  &   BROTHERS   PUBLISHERS 


BOOKS    BY 
MARGARET    DELANO 

OLD  CHESTER  TALKS.  Illustrated.  Post8vo$l  50 

AN  ENCORE.     Illustrated 8vo  1  50 

TIIK  AWAKENING  OF  HELEN  A  RICHIE. 

Illustrated Tost  8vo  1  50 

DR.  LAVKNDAR'S  PEOPLE.    Ill'd.    PostBvo  150 

R.J.'S  MOTHER.     Illustrated Post  8vo  1  50 

GOOD  FOR  TIIK  SOUI 16ino  50 

TIIK  COMMON   WAV...                    ...IGmowr/  125 


TIARPICR  8f  BROTHERS.  PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1903,  by  HAKPKR  &  BROTHERS. 

dll  rights  reserved. 
Published  October,  1903. 


TO 

DR.   FRANCIS    B.   HARRINGTON 

THESE  STORIES  ARE 
DEDICATED 


225910 


PAGE 


CONTENTS 

THE  APOTHEOSIS  OF  THE  REVEREND  MR. 

SPANGLER    

THE   NOTE 63 

THE  GRASSHOPPER  AND  THE  ANT     ...     125 

AMELIA 187 

"  AN  EXCEEDING  HIGH  MOUNTAIN  "     .     •     247 
AT  THE  STUFFED-ANIMAL  HOUSE     ...     313 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"  *  I  HAVE  A  PRESENT  FOR  YOU  A 

SISTER  '  " Frontispiece 

"  DAVID'S    HEAD    SWAM  " Facing  p.  20 

"  SHE  ALWAYS  CAME  INTO  THE  LIBRARY 

TO  SAY  GOOD-NIGHT  TO  HIM  "  .  .  "  66 

"  LURCHED  FORWARD  INTO  A  CHAIR, 

BREATHING  LOUDLY  "  .  .  .  .  74 

"  MRS.  BARKLEY  ROSE,  TAPPING  THE 
TABLE  WITH  ALARMING  LOUD- 
NESS  "  "160 

"  MISS  LYDIA,  WATCHING  HIM,  GREW 
PALER  AND  PALER  "... 


" 


"        182 


THERE  SHE  TURNED  AND  LOOKED 

BACK  " "  230 

THOMAS  DILWORTH  GOT  ON  HIS  FEET 

AND  SWORE  " 242 

'  WHAT  IS  THE  NAME  OF  THE  KIND 

PERSON?'" "  288 

vii 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

SHE  KNELT  DOWN,  AS  USUAL,  AT  THE 
BIG  CHINTZ  -  COVERED  WINGED 
CHAIR  " Facing  p.  296 

MISS  HARRIET  WAS  LEANING  FOR 
WARD  " "340 

'  A  HAPPY  SLEEP,'  MISS  ANNIE  RE- 

"  358 


THE    APOTHEOSIS 

OF    THE 
REVEREND     MR.     SPANGLER 


THE  APOTHEOSIS 

OF  THE 
REVEREND  MR.  SPANGLER 


Miss  ELLEN  BAILY  kept  school  in  the  brick  base 
ment  of  her  old  frame  house  on  Main  Street. 

The  children  used  to  come  up  a  flagstone 
path  to  the  side  door,  and  then  step  down  two 
steps  into  an  entry.  Two  rooms  opened  on  this 
entry;  in  one  the  children  sat  at  small,  battered 
desks  and  studied;  in  the  other  Miss  Baily 
heard  their  lessons,  sitting  at  a  table  covered 
with  a  red  cloth,  which  had  a  white  Grecian  fret 
for  a  border  and  smelled  of  crumbs.  On  the  wall 
behind  her  was  a  faded  print  of  "  Belshazzar's 
Feast  " ;  in  those  days  this  was  probably  the  only 
feasting  the  room  ever  saw  —  although  on  a 
thin-legged  sideboard  there  were  two  decanters 
( empty )  and  a  silver  -  wire  cake  -  basket  which 
3 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

held  always  three  apples.  Both  rooms  looked 
out  on  the  garden — the  garden  and,  in  fine 
weather,  Mr.  David  Baily!  .  .  .  Ah,  me — what  it 
was,  in  the  dreary  stretches  of  mental  arithmetic, 
to  look  across  the  flower-beds  and  see  Mr.  David 
— tall  and  dark  and  melancholy — pacing  up  and 
down,  sometimes  with  a  rake,  oftencr  with  empty 
hands;  always  with  vague,  beautiful  eyes  fixed 
on  some  inner  vision  of  heart-broken  memory. 
Miss  Ellen's  pupils  were  confident  of  this  vision 
because  of  a  tombstone  in  the  burial-ground 
which  recorded  the  death  of  Maria  Hastings,  at 
the  romantic  age  of  seventeen;  and,  as  every 
body  in  Old  Chester  knew,  Mr.  Baily  had  been 
in  love  witli  this  same  seventeen-year-old  Maria. 
To  be  sure,  it  was  thirty  years  ago;  but  that 
docs  not  make  any  difference,  "  in  real  love,"  as 
any  school-girl  can  tell  you.  So,  when  David 
Baily  paced  up  and  down  the  garden  paths  or 
sat  in  the  sunshine  under  the  big  larch  we  all 
knew  that  he  was  thinking  of  his  bereavement. 

In  the  opinion  of  the  older  girls,  grief  had 
wrecked  Mr.  David's  life ;  he  had  intended  to  be 
a  clergyman,  but  had  left  the  theological  school 
because  his  eyes  gave  out.  "  He  cried  himself 
nearly  blind,"  the  girls  told  each  other  with 
great  satisfaction.  After  that  he  tried  one  oc- 


REVEREND   MR.   SPANGLER 

cupation  after  another,  but  somehow  failed  in 
each ;  which  was  proof  of  a  delicacy  of  constitu 
tion  induced  by  sorrow.  Furthermore,  he  seemed 
pursued  by  a  cruel  fortune — "  Fate,"  the  girls 
called  it.  Elderly,  unromantic  Old  Chester  did 
not  use  this  fine  word,  but  it  admitted  pursuing 
disaster. 

For  instance:  there  was  the  time  that  David 
undertook  the  charge  of  a  private  library  in 
Upper  Chester,  and  three  months  afterwards  the 
owner  sold  it!  Then  Mr.  Hays  found  a  job  for 
him,  and  just  as  he  was  going  to  work  he  was  laid 
up  with  rheumatism.  And  again  Tom  Dilworth 
got  him  a  place  as  assistant  book-keeper;  and 
David,  after  innumerable  tangles  on  his  balance- 
sheet,  was  obliged  to  say,  frankly,  that  he  had 
no  head  for  figures.  But  he  was  willing  to  do 
anything  else — "  any  honest  work  that  is  not 
menial,"  he  said,  earnestly.  And  Tom  said,  why, 
yes,  of  course,  only  he'd  be  darned  if  he  knew 
what  to  suggest.  But  he  added,  in  conjugal 
privacy,  that  David  ought  to  be  hided  for  not 
turning  his  hand  to  something.  "  Why  doesn't 
he  try  boot-blacking?  Only,  I  suppose,  he'd 
say  he  couldn't  make  the  change  correctly.  He 
doesn't  know  whether  two  and  two  make  five 
or  three— like  our  Ned." 
5 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

"  Why,  they  make  four,  Tom,"  said  Mrs. 
Dilwortli.  And  Thomas  stared  at  her,  and  said, 
"  You  don't  say  so !" 

There  had  been  no  end  of  such  happenings; 
"  and  none  of  them  my  brother's  fault,"  Miss 
Ellen  told  the  sympathetic  older  girls,  who 
glanced  sideways  at  Mr.  David  and  wished  that 
they  might  die  and  be  mourned  as  Mr.  David 
mourned  Maria. 

The  fact  was,  the  habit  of  failure  had  fasten 
ed  upon  poor  David ;  and  in  the  days  when  Miss 
Ellen's  school  was  in  its  prime  (before  the  new 
people  told  our  parents  that  her  teaching  was 
absurdly  inadequate),  he  was  depending  on  his 
sister  for  his  bread  -  and  -  butter.  That  Miss 
Ellen  supported  him  never  troubled  the  romantic 
souls  of  Miss  Ellen's  pupils  any  more  than  it 
troubled  Miss  Ellen — or  Mr.  David.  "Why 
shouldn't  she?"  the  girls  would  have  demanded 
if  any  such  rudely  practical  question  had  been 
asked;  "he  is  so  delicate,  and  he  has  a  broken 
heart!'9  So  that  was  how  it  happened  that  the 
pupils  were  able  to  have  palpitating  glimpses 
of  him,  walking  listlessly  about  the  garden,  or 
dozing  in  a  sunny  window  over  an  old  mag 
azine,  or  doing  some  pottering  bit  of  carpenter 
ing  for  Miss  Ellen,  but  never  losing  his  good 
6 


REVEREND   MR.   SPANGLER 

looks    or    the    grieved    melancholy    of    his    ex 
pression. 

Miss    Ellen    had    been    teaching    for    twenty 
years. 

It  is  useless  to  deny  that,  unless  one  has  a 
genius  for  imparting  knowledge,  teaching  is  a 
drudgery.     It  was  drudgery  to  Ellen  Baily,  but 
she  never  slighted  it  on  that  account.     She  was 
conscientious  about  the  number  of  feet  in  the 
highest  mountain  in  the  world;   she  saw  to   it 
that  her  pupils  could  repeat  the  sovereigns  of 
England   backward.      Besides   these    fundamen 
tals,   the    older    girls   had   Natural    Philosophy 
every   Friday;   it   was   not,   perhaps,   necessary 
that  young  ladies  should  know  that  the  air  was 
composed  of  two  gases  (the  girls  who  had  trav 
elled  and  seen  the  lighted  streets  of  towns  knew 
what  gas  was),  nor  that  rubbing  a  cat's  fur  the 
wrong  way  in  the  dark  would  produce  electric 
sparks — such  things  were  not  necessary.     But 
they  were  interesting,  and,  as  Mrs.  Barkley  said, 
if  they  did  not  go  too  far  and  lead  to  scepticism, 
they  would  do  no  harm.     However,  Miss  Ellen 
counteracted  any  sceptical  tendencies  by  reading 
aloud,  every   Saturday  morning,  Bishop   Cum- 
mings  on  the  Revelation,  so  that  even  Dr.  Lav- 
7 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

endear  was  not  wiser  than  Miss  Ellen's  girls  as 
to  what  St.  John  meant  by  "  a  time,  and  a 
time,  and  a  half  of  a  time,"  or  who  the  four 
beasts  full  of  eyes  before  and  behind  stood  for. 
For  accomplishments,  there  was  fine  sewing  ev 
ery  Wednesday  afternoon ;  and  on  Mondays, 
with  sharply  pointed  pencils,  we  copied  trees  and 
houses  from  neat  little  prints;  also,  we  had  les 
sons  upon  the  piano-forte,  so  there  was  not  one 
of  us  who,  when  she  left  Miss  Ellen's,  could  not 
play  at  least  three  pieces,  viz.,  "  The  Starlight 
Valse,"  "  The  Maiden's  Prayer,"  and  "  The  Last 
Rose  of  Summer." 

Ah,  well,  one  may  smile.  Compared  to  what 
girls  know  nowadays,  it  is,  of  course,  very  ab 
surd.  But,  all  the  same,  Miss  Ellen's  girls  knew 
some  things  of  which  our  girls  are  ignorant : 
reverence  was  one;  humility  was  another;  obedi 
ence  was  a  third.  And  poor,  uneducated  folk 
(compared  with  our  daughters)  that  we  of  Old 
Chester  may  be,  we  arc,  if  I  mistake  not, 
glad  that  we  were  taught  a  certain  respect  for 
our  own  language,  which,  though  it  makes  the 
tongue  of  youth  to-day  almost  unintelligible, 
does  give  us  a  joy  in  the  wells  of  English  un- 
defiled  which  our  children  do  not  seem  to  know; 
and  for  this,  in  our  dull  Old  Chester  way,  we  are 
8 


REVEREND   MR.    SPANGLER 

not  ungrateful.     However,  this  may  all  be  sour 
grapes.   .   .   . 

At  any  rate,  for  twenty  painstaking  years 
Miss  Ellen's  methods  fed  and  clothed  Mr.  David. 
Then  came  the  winter  of  Dr.  Lavendar's  illness, 
and  the  temporary  instalment  of  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Spangler,  and  Ellen  Baily  realized  that 
there  were  other  things  in  the  world  than  David's 
food  and  clothes. 

Dr.  Lavendar,  cross,  unbelieving,  protesting, 
was  to  be  hustled  down  South  by  Sam  Wright ; 
and  the  day  before  he  started  Mr.  Spangler 
appeared.  That  was  early  in  February,  and  Dr. 
Lavendar  was  to  come  back  the  first  of  May. 

"  Not  a  day  sooner,"  said  Sam  Wright. 

"  I'll  come  when  I  see  fit,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar. 
He  didn't  believe  in  this  going  away,  he  said. 
"  Home  is  the  best  place  to  be  sick  in.  The 
truth  is,  Willy  King  doesn't  want  me  to  die  on 
his  hands — it  would  hurt  his  business,"  said  Dr. 
Lavendar,  wickedly ;  "  I  know  him !" 

But  to  Mr.  Spangler  Dr.  Lavendar  said  other 
things  about  Willy,  and  Sam  Wright,  too;  in 
fact,  about  all  of  them.  And  he  pulled  out  his 
big,  red  silk  pocket-handkerchief  with  a  trem 
bling  flourish  and  wiped  his  eyes.  "  I  don't  de 
serve  it,"  he  said.  "  I'm  a  dogmatic  old  fogy, 
9 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

and  I  won't  let  the  new  people  have  their  jim- 
crackery ;  and  I  preach  old  sermons,  and  I've 
had  a  cold  in  my  head  for  three  months.  And 
yet,  look  at  'em :  A  purse,  if  you  please !  And 
Sam  Wright  is  going  down  with  me.  Sam  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  himself  to  waste  his  time ; 
he's  a  busy  man.  No,  sir;  I  don't  deserve  it. 
And,  if  you  take  my  advice,  you'll  pray  the 
Lord  that  your  people  will  treat  you  as  you  don't 
deserve." 

Mr.  Spanglcr,  a  tall,  lean  man,  very  correct 
ly  dressed,  who  was  depended  upon  in  the  diocese 
as  a  supply,  made  notes  solemnly  while  Dr. 
Lavendar  talked ;  but  he  sighed  once  or  twice, 
patiently,  for  the  old  man  was  not  very  helpful. 
Mr.  Spangler  wanted  to  know  what  Sunday- 
school  teachers  could  be  relied  upon,  and  whether 
the  choir  was  very  thin-skinned,  and  which  of 
the  vestry  had  chips  on  their  shoulders. 

"  None  of  'cm.  I  knocked  'cm  all  off,  long 
ago,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar.  "  Don't  you  worry 
about  that.  Speak  your  mind." 

"  I  have,"  said  Mr.  Spangler,  coughing  deli 
cately,  "  an  iron  hand  when  I  once  make  up 
my  mind  in  regard  to  methods;  firmness  is,  I 
think,  a  clergyman's  duty,  and  duty,  I  hope, 
is  my  watchword ;  but  I  think  it  best  to  canvass 
10 


REVEREND   MR.   SPANGLER 

a    matter    thoroughly    before    making    up    my 

mind." 

"  It  is  generally  wise  to  do  so,"  said  Dr.  Lav- 

endar,  very  meekly. 

"Of  course,"  Mr.  Spangler  said,  kindly, 
"  you  belong  to  a  somewhat  older  period,  and 
do  not,  perhaps,  realize  the  value  of  our  modern 
ways  of  dealing  with  a  parish— I  mean  in  re 
gard  to  firmly  carrying  out  one's  own  ideas, 
suppose  these  good  people  do  pretty  much  as 
they  please,  so  far  as  you  are  concerned?" 

«  Perhaps  they  do,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar,  very, 
very  meekly. 

«  So,  not  wishing  to  offend,  I  will  ask  a  lew 
questions:  I  have  heard  that  the  parish  is  per 
haps  a  little  old-fashioned  in  regard  to  matters 
of  ritual?  I  have  wondered  whether  my  cassock 
would  be  misunderstood?" 

"  Cassock?"  said  Dr.  Lavendar.  "  Bless  your 
heart,  wear  a  pea-jacket  if  it  helps  you  to 
preach  the  Word.  It  will  only  be  for  ten  Sun 
days,"  he  added,  hopefully. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Spangler  smiled  at  that; 
and  when  he  smiled  one  saw  that  his  face,  though 
timid,  was  kind. 

So    Dr.    Lavendar,    growling    and    scolding, 
fussing  about  Danny  and  his  little  blind  horse 
11 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

Goliath,  and  Mr.  Spangler's  comfort,  was 
bundled  off;  and  Mr.  Spangler  settled  down  in 
the  shabby  rectory.  His  iron  will  led  him  to 
preach  in  his  surplice,  and  it  was  observed  that 
a  silver  cross  dangled  from  his  black  silk  fob. 
"  But  it's  only  for  ten  weeks,"  said  Old  Chester, 
and  asked  him  to  tea,  and  bore  with  him,  and 
did  nothing  more  severe  than  smile  when  he 
bowed  in  the  creed — smile,  and  perhaps  stand 
up  a  little  straighter  itself. 

This,  of  the  real  Old  Chester.     Of  course  the 
new   people   were   pleased;   and   one   or  two   of 
the  younger  folk  liked  it.     Miss  Ellen  Baily  was 
not   young,    but    she    liked    the    surplice    better 
than  Dr.  Lavendar's  black  gown  and  bands,  and 
the  sudden  sparkle  of  the  cross  when  Mr.  Span- 
gler  knelt  gave  her  a  pang  of  pleasure.     David, 
too,  was  not  displeased.     To  be  sure,  David  was 
rarely  stirred  to  anything  so  positive  as  pleas 
ure.     But  at  least  he  made  no  objections  to  the 
cross;    and    he    certainly    brightened    up    when, 
on    Saturday   afternoon,    Mr.    Spangler    called. 
He  even  talked  of  Gambier,  to  which  he  had  gone 
for  a  year,  and  of  which,  it  appeared,  the  clergy 
man  was  an  alumnus.     Miss  Ellen  had  a  pile  of 
compositions   on   the   table   beside   her,   and   she 
glanced  at  one  occasionally  so  that  she  might  not 
12 


REVEREND   MR.   SPANGLER 

seem  to  expect  any  share  in  the  conversation. 
But,  all  the  same,  Mr.  Spangler  noticed  her.  He 
was  not  drawn  to  the  brother;  still,  he  talked 
to  him  about  their  college,  for  Mr.  Spangler 
believed  that  being  agreeable  was  just  as  much 
a  clergyman's  duty  as  was  changing  the  book 
marks  for  Advent  or  Lent;  and  duty,  as  Mr. 
Spangler  often  said,  was  his  watchword.  Fur 
thermore,  he  was  aware  that  his  kindness  pleased 
the  silent,  smiling  woman  seated  behind  the  pile 
of  compositions. 

It  pleased  her  so  much  that  that  night,  after 
David  had  gone  to  bed,  she  went  over  to  Mrs. 
Barkley's  to  talk  about  her  caller. 

"Well,  Ellen  Baily,"  Mrs.  Barkley  said, 
briskly,  as  Miss  Baily  came  into  the  circle  of 
lamplight  by  the  parlor-table,  "  so  you  had  a 
visitor  to-day?  I  saw  him,  cross  and  all." 

"  It  was  a  very  small  one,"  Miss  Baily  pro 
tested,  "  and  only  silver." 

"  Would  you  have  had  it  diamonds  ?"  demand 
ed  Mrs.  Barkley,  in  a  deep  bass.  "  Oh,  well ; 
it  doesn't  really  matter ;  there  are  only  nine  more 
Sundays.  But  Sam  Wright  says  he  shall  men 
tion  it  when  he  writes  to  Dr.  Lavendar." 

"I  suppose  Dr.  Lavendar  saw  it  before  he 
went  away,"  Ellen  said,  with  some  spirit. 
13 


DR.    LAVENUAR'S    PEOPLE 

"  Well,  if  he  doesn't  take  his  religion  out  in 
crosses,  I  suppose  it's  all  right.  But  he's  not  a 
very  active  laborer  in  the  vineyard.  I  suppose 
you  know  about  him?" 

"  Why,  no,"  Ellen  said ;  "  nothing  except  that 
he  supplies  a  good  deal." 

"  Supplies?  Yes,  because  his  mother  left  him 
a  house  in  Mercer,  and  enough  to  live  on  in  a 
small  way ;  so  he  likes  supplying  better  than 
taking  a  charge  where  he'd  have  to  work  hard 
and  couldn't  have  his  comforts." 

"  Why  doesn't  he  take  a  charge  where  he 
could  have  his  comforts?" 

"  Can't  get  the  chance,"  Mrs.  Barkley  ex 
plained,  briefly.  "  Not  enough  of  a  preacher. 
And,  besides,  he  likes  his  ease  in  Zion.  Rachel 
Spangler's  old  house,  and  her  Mary  Ann,  and 
his  father's  library,  and — well,  the  flesh-pots  of 
Mercer! — and  supplying,  just  enough  to  buy 
him  his  ridiculous  buttoncd-up  coats.  That's 
what  he  likes.  I  suppose  he  uses  the  same  old 
sermons  over  and  over.  Doesn't  ever  have  to 
write  a  new  one.  However,  he's  here,  and  maybe 
Old  Chester  will  do  him  good.  Ellen  Baily,  did 
you  know  that  we  have  a  new-comer  in  Old 
Chester?  A  widow.  I  don't  like  widows.  Her 
name's  Smily.  Foolish  name!  She's  staying 
14 


REVEREND   MR.   SPANGLER 

at  the  Stuffed  Animal  House.  She's  Harriet 
Hutchinson's  cousin,  and  she's  come  down  on  her 
for  a  visit." 

"  Maybe  she'll  make  her  a  present  when  she 
goes  away,"  said  Ellen,  hopefully. 

"  Present !  She  needs  to  have  presents  made 
to  her.  She  hasn't  a  cent  but  what  her  hus 
band's  brother  gives  her.  He's  a  school-teacher, 
I  understand;  and  you  know  yourself,  Ellen 
Baily,  how  much  a  school-teacher  can  do  in  that 
way?" 

Miss  Ellen  sighed. 

"Well,"  proceeded  Mrs.  Barkley,  "I  just 
thought  I'd  tell  you  about  her,  because  if  we  all 
invite  her  to  tea,  turn  about,  it  will  be  a  relief 
to  Harriet — (she  isn't  well,  that  girl;  I'm  really 
uneasy  about  her).  And  I  guess  the  Smily  wom 
an  won't  object  to  Old  Chester  food,  either," 
said  Mrs.  Barkley,  complacently.  "  I've  asked 
her  for  Tuesday  evening,  and  I  thought  I'd 
throw  in  Mr.  Spangler  and  get  him  off  my 
mind." 

"  David  likes. him  so  much,"  Miss  Ellen  began. 

"  Does  he?"  said  Mrs.  Barkley.     "  Well,  tell 

him  to  come;  he  can  talk  to  Mr.  Spangler.    I'm 

afraid  I  might  hurt  the  man's  feelings  if  I  had 

to  do  all  the  talking.     I  seem  to  do  that  some- 

15 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

times.  Did  you  ever  notice,  Ellen,  that  the 
truth  always  hurts  people's  feelings?  But  I 
knew  his  mother,  so  I  don't  want  to  do  anything 
to  wound  him.  I  won't  ask  you,  Ellen ;  I  don't 
like  five  at  table.  But  just  tell  David  to  come, 
will  you?" 

And  Miss  Baily  promised,  gratefully.     David 
was  not  often  asked  out  in  Old  Chester. 


II 

THE  supper  at  Mrs.  BarMey's  was  a  great  occa 
sion  to  David  Baily.  Right  after  dinner  he 
went  up  to  the  garret,  and  Ellen  heard  him 
shuffling  about  overhead,  moving  trunks.  After 
a  while  he  came  down,  holding  something  out 
to  his  sister. 

"  Guess  I'll  wear  this,"  he  said,  briefly.  It  was 
an  old  black  velvet  waistcoat  worked  with  small 
silk  flowers,  pink  and  blue  and  yellow. 

"  I  haven't  seen  gentlemen  wear  those  waist 
coats  lately,"  Miss  Ellen  said,  doubtfully. 

Mr.  David  spread  the  strange  old  garment 
across  his  narrow  breast,  and  regarded  himself 
in  the  mirror  above  the  mantel.  "  Father  wore 
it,"  he  said. 

Then  he  retired  to  his  own  room.  When  he 
reappeared  he  wore  the  waistcoat.  His  old  black 
frock-coat,  shiny  on  the  shoulders  and  with  very 
full  skirts,  hung  so  loose  in  front  that  the  flow 
ered  velvet  beneath  was  not  conspicuous ;  but  Mr. 
David  felt  its  moral  support  when,  at  least  ten 

2  17 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

minutes  before  the  proper  time,  he  started  for 
Mrs.  Barkley's. 

His  hostess,  putting  on  her  best  cap  before 
her  mirror,  glanced  down  from  her  window  as 
he  came  up  the  path.  "  Ellen  ought  not  to  have 
sent  him  so  early,"  she  said,  with  some  irritation. 
"  Emily !"  she  called,  in  her  deep  voice,  "just  go 
to  the  front  door  and  tell  Mr.  Baily  to  go  home. 
I'm  not  ready  for  him.  Or  he  can  sit  in  the 
parlor  and  wait  if  he  wants  to.  But  he  can't 
talk  to  me." 

Emily,  a  mournful,  elderly  person,  sought,  out 
of  regard  for  her  own  feelings,  to  soften  her  mis 
tress's  message ;  but  David  instantly  retreated  to 
walk  up  and  down  the  street,  keeping  his  eye 
on  Mrs.  Barklcy's  house,  so  that  he  could  time 
his  return  by  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Spanglcr. 

"  He'll  come  at  the  right  hour,  I  presume," 
he  said  to  himself.  Just  then  he  saw  Mrs.  Smily 
stepping  delicately  down  the  street,  her  head 
on  one  side,  and  a  soft,  unchanging  smile  on  her 
lips.  As  they  met  she  minced  a  little  in  her  step, 
and  said : 

"  Dear  me !  I'm  afraid  I've  made  a  mistake. 
I'm  looking  for  Mrs.  Barkley's  residence." 

4  Mrs.  Barkley  resides  here,"  said  Mr.  David, 
elegantly. 

18 


REVEREND   MR.   SPANGLER 

She  looked  up  into  his  sad,  dark  eyes  with  a 
flurried  air.  "  Dear  me,"  she  said,  "  I  fear  I 
am  late." 

^"  Oh,  not  late,"  said  poor  David.  "  Perhaps 
we  might  walk  up  and  down  for  a  minute 
longer?" 

Mrs.  Smily,  astonished  but  flattered,  tossed 
her  head,  and  said,  Well,  she  didn't  know  about 
that!  But,  all  the  same,  she  turned,  and  they 
walked  as  far  as  the  post-office. 

"  I'm   afraid  you   are  very   attentive  to  the 
ladies,"    Mrs.    Smily    said,    coquettishly,    when 
David  had  introduced  himself;  and  David,  who 
had  never  heard  a  flirtatious  word  (unless  from 
Maria),  felt  a  sudden  thrill  and  a  desire  to  re 
ply  in  kind.     But  from  lack  of  experience  he 
could  think  of  nothing  but  the  truth.     He  had 
been  too  early,  he   said,   and  had   come   out  to 
wait    for   Mr.    Spangler — "  and    you,    ma'am," 
he  added,  in  a  polite  after-thought.      But  his 
hurried  emphasis  made  Mrs.  Smily  simper  more 
than  ever.    She  shook  her  finger  at  him  and  said : 
"  Come,  come,  sir !"    And  David's  head  swam. 
At  that  moment  Mr.   Spangler,  buttoned  to 
his   chin   in   a   black   waistcoat,    came   solemnly 
along,  and,  with  his  protection,  David  felt  he 
could  face  Mrs.  Barkley. 
19 


DR.    LAVENDAirS    PEOPLE 
t 

But,  indeed,  she  met  her  three  guests  with 
condescension  and  kindness.  "  They  are  all  fools 
in  their  different  ways,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"  but.  one  must  be  kind  to  them."  So  she  made 
Mrs.  Smily  sit  down  in  the  most  comfortable 
rhair,  and  pushed  a  footstool  at  her.  *  Then  she 
told  Mr.  Spangler,  good-naturedly,  that  she 
supposed  he  found  Old  Chester  very  old-fash 
ioned.  k%  Don't  you  be  trying  any  candles  on 
us,"  she  threatened  him,  in  a  jocular  bass.  As 
for  David,  she  paid  no  attention  to  him  except 
to  remark  that  she  supposed  time  didn't  count 
with  him.  But  her  bushy  eyebrows  twitched  in 
a  kindly  smile  when  she  said  it.  Then  she  be 
gan  to  talk  about  Dr.  Lavendar's  health.  "  It 
is  a  great  trial  to  have  him  away,"  she  said. 
k%  Dear  me !  I  don't  know  what  we  will  do  when 
the  Lord  takes  him.  I  wish  he  might  live  for 
ever.  Clergymen  are  a  poor  lot  nowadays." 

"  Why,  I  heard,"  said  Mrs.  Smily,  "  that  he 
didn't  give  entire  satisfaction." 

"What!"  cried  Mrs.  Barkley.  "Who  has 
been  talking  nonsense  to  you?  Some  of  the  new 
people,  I'll  be  bound." 

Mrs.     Smily,    very    much    frightened,    mur 
mured  that   no  doubt  she  was  mistaken.      Wild 
horses  would  not  have  drawn  from  her  that  she 
20 


REVEREND   MR.    SPANGLER 

had  heard  Annie  Shields  that  was,  say  that  Dr. 
Lavendar  had  deliberately  advised  some  one  she 
knew  to  be  bad ;  and  that  he  had  refused  to  help 
a  very  worthy  man  to  study  far  the  ministry ; 
and  that  the  Ferrises  said  he  ought  to  be  tried 
for  heresy  (or  something)  because  he  married 
Oscar  King  to  their  runaway  niece ;  and  that 
he  would  not  give  a  child  back  to  its  repentant 
(and  perfectly  respectable)  mother — "  And  a 
mother's  claim  is  the  holiest  thing  on  earth," 
Mrs.  Smily  said — and  that  he  had  encouraged 
Miss  Lydia  Sampson  in  positively  wicked  ex 
travagance.  After  hearing  these  things,  Mrs. 
Smily  had  her  opinion  of  Dr.  Lavendar;  but 
that  was  no  reason  why  she  should  let  Mrs.  Bark- 
ley  snap  her  head  off.  So  she  only  murmured 
that  no  doubt  she  had  made  a  mistake. 

"  I  think  you  have,"  said  Mrs.  Barkley,  dry 
ly  ;  and  rose  and  marshalled  her  company  in  to 
supper.  "She's  a  perfect  fool,"  she  told  her 
self,  "  but  I  hope  the  Lord  will  give  me  grace 
to  hold  my  tongue."  Perhaps  the  Lord  gave 
her  too  much  grace,  for,  for  the  rest  of  the  even 
ing,  she  hardly  spoke  to  Mi's.  Smily;  she  even 
conversed  with  David  rather  than  look  in  In 
direction. 

For  the  most  part  the  conversation  was  a  po- 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

lite  exchange  of  views  upon  harmless  topics  be 
tween  Mrs.  Barklcy  and  Mr.  Spangler,  during 
which  Mrs.  Smily  cheered  up  and  murmured 
small  ejaculations  to  David  Baily.  She  told 
him  that  she  was  scared  nearly  to  death  of  the 
stuffed  animals  at  Miss  Harriet's  house. 

"They  make  me  just  scream!"  she  said. 

David  protcctingly  assured  her  that  they  were 
harmless. 

"  But  they  are  so  dreadful !"  Mrs.  Smily  said. 
"  Isn't  it  strange  that  my  cousin  likes  to — to 
do  that  to  animals?  It  isn't  quite  ladylike,  to 
my  mind." 

Mr.  Baily  thought  to  himself  how  ladylike 
it  was  in  Mrs.  Smily  to  object  to  taxidermy.  He 
noticed,  too,  that  she  ate  almost  nothing,  which 
also  seemed  very  refined.  It  occurred  to  him 
that  such  a  delicate  creature  ought  not  to  go 
home  alone ;  the  lane  up  to  Miss  Harriet's  house 
was  dark  with  overhanging  trees,  and,  further 
more,  half-way  up  the  hill  it  passed  the  burial- 
ground.  In  a  burst  of  fancy  David  saw  himself 
near  the  low  wall  of  the  cemetery,  protecting 
Mrs.  Smily,  who  was  shivering  in  her  ladylike 
way  at  the  old  head-stones  over  in  the  grass. 
He  began  (in  his  own  mind)  a  reassuring  con 
versation  :  "  There  are  no  such  things  as  spectres, 


REVEREND   MR.    SPANGLER 

ma'am.  I  assure  you  there  is  no  occasion  for 
fear."  And  at  these  manly  words  she  would 
press  closer  to  his  side.  (And  this  outside  the 
burial-ground — oh,  Maria,  Maria!) 

But  this  flight  of  imagination  was  not  real 
ized,  for  later  Emily  announced  that  Miss  Har 
riet's  Augustine  had  come  for  Mrs.  Smily. 

"Did  she  bring  a  lantern?"  demanded  Mrs. 
Barkley.  "  That  lane  is  too  dark  except  for 
young  folks." 

Augustine  had  a  lantern,  and  was  waiting 
with  it  at  the  front  door  for  her  charge;  so 
there  was  no  reason  for  Mr.  David  to  offer  his 
protection.  He  and  Mr.  Spangler  went  away 
together,  and  David  twisted  his  head  around 
several  times  to  watch  the  spark  of  light  jolt 
ing  up  the  hill  towards  the  burial-ground  and 
the  Stuffed-Animal  House.  When  the  two  men 
said  good-night,  Mr.  Spangler  had  a  glimpse  of 
a  quickly  opened  door  and  heard  an  eager  voice 
— "  Come  in,  dear  brother.  Did  you  have  a  de 
lightful  evening?" 

"  How  pleasing  to  be  welcomed  so  affection 
ately  !"  said  the  Reverend  Mr.  Spangler  to  him 
self. 


Ill 


THE  gentle  warmth  of  that  welcome  lingered 
persistently  in  Mr.  Spangler's  mind. 

"  I  suspect  that  she  kissed  him,"  he  said  to 
himself;  and  a  little  dull  red  crept  into  his 
cheeks. 

Miss  Ellen,  dark-eyed,  gentle,  with  soft  lips, 
made  Mr.  Spangler  suddenly  think  of  a  spray 
of  heliotrope  warm  in  the  sunshine.  "  That  is 
a  very  poetical  thought,"  he  said,  with  a  sense 
of  regret  that  it  probably  could  not  be  utilized 
in  a  sermon.  But  when  he  entered  the  study  he 
banished  poetry,  because  he  had  a  letter  to 
write.  It  was  in  answer  to  an  offer  of  the  secre 
taryship  of  a  church  publishing  -  house  in  a 
Western  city. 

Dr.  Lavcndar,  it  appeared,  had  mentioned  Mr. 
Spangler's  name  to  one  Mr.  Horatius  Brown, 
stating  that  in  his  opinion  Mr.  Spangler  was 
just  the  man  for  the  place — "  exact,  painstak 
ing,  conscientious,"  Mr.  Brown  quoted  in  his 
letter ;  but  forbore  to  add  Dr.  Lavendar's  further 


REVEREND   MR.   SPANGLER 

remark  that  Mr.  Spangler  would  never  embarrass 
the  management  by  an  original  idea.      "  He'll 
pick  up  pins  as  faithfully  as  any  man  I  know," 
said    Dr.    Lavendar,    "  and    that's    what    you 
religious    newspapers    want,    I    believe?"      Mr. 
Spangler   was   not   without   a   solemn   pride   in 
being  thus  sought  out  by  the  ecclesiastical  busi 
ness  world,  especially  when  he  reflected  upon  the 
salary  which  Mr.  Brown  was  prepared  to  offer; 
but  acceptance  was  another  matter.    To  leave  his 
high  calling  for  mere  business !    A  business,  too, 
which  would  involve  exact  hours  and  steady  ap 
plication ; — Compared  with  that,  and  with  the 
crude,   smart   bustle   of  the   Western   city,   the 
frugal  leisure  of  his  placid  days  in  Mercer  as 
sumed  in  his  mind  the  sanctity  of  withdrawal 
from  the  world,   and   his   occasional   preaching 
took  on  the  glow  of  missionary   zeal.      "  No," 
said  Mr.   Spangler,  "  mercenary  considerations 
do  not  move  me  a  hair's-breadth."    Mr.  Spangler 
did  not  call  his  tranquil  life  in  Mercer,  his  com 
fortable  old  house,  his  good  cook,  his  old  friends, 
his    freedom   from   sermon  -  writing,   mercenary 
considerations.    On  the  contrary,  he  assured  him 
self  that  his  "  circumstances  were  far  from  afflu 
ent  ;  but  I  must  endure  hardness !"  he  used  to  add 
cheerfully.     And  very  honestly  his  declination 
25 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

seemed  to  him  something  that  Heaven  would 
place  to  his  credit.  So  he  wrote  to  the  publish 
ing-house  that  he  had  given  the  proposition  his 
most  prayerful  consideration,  but  that  he  be 
lieved  that  it  was  his  duty  to  still  labor  at  the 
sacred  desk — and  duty  was,  he  hoped,  the  watch 
word  of  his  life.  And  he  was  Mr.  Brown's 
"  obedient  servant  and  brother  in  Christ — Au 
gustus  Spanglcr." 

Then  he  settled  down  in  Dr.  Lavendar's  arm 
chair  by  the  fire  in  the  study ;  but  he  did  not  read 
the  ecclesiastical  paper  which  every  week  fed  his 
narrow  and  sincere  mind.  Instead  he  wondered 
how  often  Dr.  Lavendar  called  upon  his  female 
parishioners.  Would  twice  in  a  fortnight  be  liable 
to  be  misunderstood?  Mr.  Spangler  was  terribly 
afraid  of  being  misunderstood.  Then  he  had  a 
flash  of  inspiration :  he  ought,  as  rector,  to  visit 
the  schools.  That  was  only  proper  and  could  not 
possibly  be  misunderstood.  "  For  an  interest 
in  educational  affairs  is  part  of  a  priest's  duty," 
Mr.  Spanglcr  reflected. 

If  he  was  right,  it  must  be  admitted  that  Dr. 
Lavendar  was  very  remiss.  So  far  as  we  children 
could  remember,  he  had  never  visited  Miss  Ellen's 
school  and  listened  to  recitations  and  heard  us 
speak  our  pieces.  Whether  that  was  because  he 
26 


REVEREND   MR.    SPANGLER 

did  not  care  enough  about  us  to  come,  or  because 
he  saw  us  at  Collect  class  and  Sunday-school  and 
church,  and  in  the  street  and  at  the  post-office 
and   at  home,   until  he  knew   us   all  by  heart, 
so  to  speak,  may   be   decided   one   way   or  the 
other;  but  certainly  when  Mr.   Spangler  came, 
and  sat  through  one  morning,  and  told  us  stories, 
and  said  we  made  him  think  of  a  garden  of  rose 
buds,  and  took  up  so  much  of  Miss  Ellen's  time 
that  she  could  not  hear  the  mental  arithmetic,  it 
was  impossible  not  to  institute  comparisons.     In 
deed,  some  hearts  were  (for  the  moment)  untrue 
to  Mr.  David.     When  Miss  Ellen  called  on  us  to 
speak  our  pieces,  we  were  so  excited  and  breath 
less  that,  for  my  part,  I  could  not  remember  the 
first  line  of  "  Bingen  on  the  Rhine,"  and  had 
to  look  quickly  into  the  Fourth  Reader ;  but  be 
fore  I  could  begin,  Lydia  Wright  started  in  with 
"  Excelsior,"  and  she  got  all  the  praise ;  though 
I'm  sure  I — well,  never  mind !     But  Dr.  Lavcn- 
dar  wouldn't  have  praised  one  girl  so  that  all 
the  others  wanted  to  scratch  her !     All  that  first 
half,  the  pupils,  bending  over  their  copy-books, 
writing,  "Courtesy  to  inferiors  is  true  gentility,9'' 
glanced    at   the   visitor   sideways,    and    if   they 
caught  his   eye,  looked  down,  blushing  to  the 
roots  of  their  hair — which  was  not  frizzled,  if 
27 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

you  please,  or  hanging  over  their  eyes  like  the 
locks  of  Skye-terriers,  but  parted  and  tied  with 
a  neat  ribbon  bow  on  the  tops  of  all  the  small 
heads.  But  Mr.  Spangler  did  not  look  often  at 
the  pupils ;  instead  he  conversed  in  a  low  voice 
with  Miss  Ellen.  Nobody  could  hear  what  he  said, 
but  it  must  have  been  very  interesting,  for  when 
Miss  Ellen  suddenly  looked  at  the  clock  she 
blushed,  and  brought  her  hand  hurriedly  down 
on  the  bell  on  her  desk.  It  was  ten  minutes  after 
the  hour  for  recess  ! 

For  the  rest  of  that  day  Miss  Ellen  Baily 
moved  and  looked  as  one  in  a  dream.  Her 
brother,  however,  did  not  seem  to  notice  her 
absent-mindedness.  Indeed,  he  was  as  talkative 
as  she  was  silent. 

"  Sister,"  he  said,  as  they  sat  at  tea,  "  I  need 
a  new  hat.  One  with  a  blue  band  about  it  might 
be — ah — becoming." 

"  Blue  is  a  sweet  color,"  said  Miss  Ellen, 
vaguely. 

"  Mrs.  Smily  remarked  to  me  that  before  her 
affliction  made  it  improper,  she  was  addicted  to 
the  color  of  blue." 

"  Was  she?"  Ellen  said,  absently. 

"  Don't  you  think,"  David  said,  after  a  pause, 
"that  my  coat  is  somewhat  shabby?  You 


REVEREND   MR.    SPANGLER 

bought  it,  you  may  remember,  the  winter  of  the 
long  frost." 

"  Is  it?"  Miss  Ellen  said. 

"  Yes ;  and  the  style  is  obsolete,  I  think.  Not 
that  I  am  a  creature  of  fashion,  but  I  do  not  like 
to  be  conspicuous  in  dress." 

"  You  are  not  that,  dear  David,"  Miss  Ellen 
protested.  "  On  Sunday  I  often  think  nobody 
looks  as  handsome  as  you." 

David  blushed.    "  You  are  partial,  Ellen." 
"  No,  I'm  not,"  cried  Miss  Ellen,  coming  out 
of  her  reveries.     "  Only  yesterday  I  heard  some 
one  say  that  you  were  very  fine-looking." 
"Who  said  it?" 

"  Never  mind,"  Ellen  said,  gayly. 
"  Do  tell  me,  sister,"  he  entreated ;  "  that's  a 
good  girl." 

"  It  was  somebody  whose  opinion  you  care  a 
great  deal  about." 

"  I  think  you  might  tell  me,"  said  Mr.  David, 
aggrieved.  "  Not  that  I  care,  because  it  isn't 
true,  and  was  only  said  to  please  you.  People 
know  how  to  get  round  you,  Ellen.  But  I'd  just 
like  to  know." 

"  Guess,"  said  Miss  Ellen. 
"  Well,  was  it— Mrs.  Smily  ?" 
"  Oh,  dear,  no !     It  was  somebody  very  im- 
29 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOrLE 

portant  in  Old  Chester.  It  was  Mrs.  Bark- 
ley." 

"  Oh,"  said  Mr.  David. 

"  A  compliment  from  her  means  so  much,  you 
know,"  Miss  Ellen  reminded  him. 

David  was  silent. 

"  But  all  the  same,"  Ellen  said,  "  you  do  need 
a  coat,  dear  brother.  I'm  afraid  I've  been  selfish 
not  to  notice  it." 

Mr.  David  made  no  reply. 

Miss  Ellen  beamed  at  him.  "  You  always 
look  well,  in  my  eyes:  but  it  pleases  me  to  have 
you  well  dressed,  too." 

"  Well,  then,  to  please  you,  I'll  dress  up," 
said  Mr.  David,  earnestly. 


IV 

"  DOES  not  Mr.  Baily  take  any  part  whatever 
in  his  sister's  work?"  Mr.  Spangler  said.  He 
was  calling  upon  Mrs.  Barkley,  and  the  conver 
sation  turned  upon  the  guests  whom  he  had  met 
at  the  tea-party. 

"  That  is  a  very  foolish  question,"  said  Mrs. 
Barkley ;  "  but  of  course  you  don't  know  poor 
David,  or  you  wouldn't  have  asked  it.  David 
means  well,  but  he  has  no  mind.  Still,  he  has 
tried,  poor  fellow."  Then  she  recited  the  story 
of  David's  failures.  "  There  is  really  nothing 
that  he  is  capable  of  doing,"  she  ended,  thought 
fully  ;  "  though  I  think,  if  his  eyes  hadn't  given 
out,  he  might  have  made  a  good  minister.  For 
David  is  a  pious  man,  and  he  likes  to  visit." 

A  faint  red  came  into  Mr.  Spangler's  cheeks ; 
although  he  had  been  in  Old  Chester  nearly  a 
month,  he  had  not  yet  become  acclimated  to  Mrs. 
Barkley.  The  watchword  of  duty  made  him  call, 
but  he  closed  her  front  door  behind  him  with  an 
emphasis  which  was  not  dutiful. 
31 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

"  That's  done !"  he  said ;  and  thought  to  him 
self  how  much  pleasanter  than  parochial  visits 
were  educational  matters. 

Mr.  Spangler  felt  their  importance  so  deeply 
that  he  spent  two  more  mornings  watching  Miss 
Ellen's  pupils  work  out  examples  on  the  black 
board  and  hearing  them  read,  turn  about,  in  the 
Fourth  Reader.  In  fact,  the  next  month  was  a 
pretty  happy  time  for  Miss  Ellen's  girls. 

"  I  skipped  to  the  bottom  of  the  page  in  '  Cati 
line's  Reply,'"  Lydia  Wright  said,  giggling, 
"  and  she  never  knew  it !" 

The  girls  were  tremendously  interested  but 
not  very  sympathetic,  for  "  she's  so  dreadfully 
old !"  they  told  each  other.  Had  Miss  Ellen  been 
Maria's  age  and  had  a  beau  (by  this  time  they 
called  Mr.  Spangler  Miss  Ellen's  beau,  the  impu 
dent  little  creatures!),  how  different  it  would 
have  been!  But  Miss  Ellen  was  forty.  "Did 
you  ever  know  anything  so  perfectly  absurd?" 
said  the  older  girls.  And  the  second-class  girls 
said  they  certainly  never  did.  So  when  Mr. 
Spangler  came  and  listened  to  recitations  we 
poked  one  another,  and  put  out  our  tongues  be 
hind  our  Readers,  and  made  ourselves  extremely 
obnoxious — if  dear  Miss  Ellen  had  had  the  eyes 
to  see  it,  which,  indeed,  she  had  not.  She  was 
32 


REVEREND   MR.    SPANGLER 

very  absent  in  those  days ;  but  she  did  her  work 
faithfully,  and  saw  to  David's  new  coat,  and 
asked  Mrs.  Smily  to  tea,  not  only  to  help  out 
Miss  Harriet  at  the  Stuffed-Animal  House,  but 
because  David  told  her  a  piteous  tale  of  Mrs. 
Smily's  loneliness  and  general  forlornness.  David 
had  had  it  directly  from  Mrs.  Smily  herself, 
and  had  been  greatly  moved  by  it ;  she  had  told 
him  that  this  was  a  sad  and  unfriendly  world.  ^ 

"  But  I  am  sure  your  brother-in-law's  family 
is  much  attached  to  you?"  David  said,  comfort 
ingly. 

Then  poor  Mrs.  Smily  suddenly  began  to  cry. 
"  Yes ;  but  I  am  afraid  I  can't  live  at  my 
brother-in-law's  any  longer.  His  wife  is— is 
tired  of  me,"  said  the  poor  little  creature. 

David  was  thunderstruck.  "Tired?  Of  you! 
Oh,  impossible !" 

Then  she  opened  her  poor  foolish  heart  to 
him.  And  David  was  so  touched  and  interested 
that  he  could  hardly  wait  to  get  home  to  pour 
it  all  into  Ellen's  ears.  Ellen  was  very  sympa 
thetic,  and  made  haste  to  ask  Mrs.  Smily  to  tea; 
and  when  she  came  was  as  kind  and  pitiful  as 
only  dear,  kind  Ellen  could  be.  But  perhaps  she 
took  Mrs.  Smily's  griefs  a  little  less  to  heart  than 
she  might  have  done  had  she  heard  the  tale  a 
3  33 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

month  before.  Just  then  she  was  in  the  whirl 
of  Old  Chester  hospitality;  she  was  asked  out 
three  times  in  one  week  to  meet  the  Supply ! — • 
and  by  that  time  the  Supply  had  reached  the 
point  of  hoping  that  he  was  going  to  meet  Miss 
Ellen. 

Yet,  as  Mr.  Spangler  reflected,  this  was  hard 
ly  prudent  on  his  part.  "  For  I  might  become 
interested,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  frowned  and 
sighed.  Now,  as  everybody  knows,  the  outcome 
of  "  interest  "  is  only  justified  by  a  reasonable 
affluence.  "  And,"  Augustus  Spangler  reminded 
himself,  "  my  circumstances  are  not  affluent." 
Indeed,  that  warm,  pleasant  old  house  in  Mercer, 
and  Mary  Ann,  and  his  books,  and  those  button- 
ed-up  coats  needed  every  penny  of  his  tiny  in 
come.  "Therefore,"  said  Mr.  Spangler,  "it 
is  my  duty  to  put  this  out  of  my  head  with  an 
iron  hand."  But,  all  the  same,  Ellen  Baily  was 
like  a  spray  of  heliotrope. 

For  a  week,  the  second  week  in  April,  while 
Old  Chester  softened  into  a  mist  of  green,  and 
the  crown-imperials  shook  their  clean,  bitter  fra 
grance  over  the  bare  beds  in  the  gardens — for 
that  week  Mr.  Spangler  thought  often  of  his 
income,  but  oftener  of  Miss  Ellen.  Reason  and 
sentiment  wrestled  together  in  his  lazy  but  affec- 
34 


REVEREND   MR.   SPANGLER 

tionate  heart;  and  then,  with  a  mighty  effort, 
sentiment  conquered.   .   .   . 

"It  seems,"  said  Mr.  Spangler,  nervously, 
"  a  little  premature,  but  my  sojourn  in  Old  Ches 
ter  is  drawing  to  a  close ;  I  shall  not  tarry  more 
than  another  fortnight ;  so  I  felt,  my  dear  friend, 
that  I  must,  before  seeking  other  fields  of  useful 
ness,  tell  you  what  was  in  my  mind — or  may  I 
say  heart?" 

~"  You  are  very  kind,"  Ellen  Baily  said,  breath 
lessly. 

....  Mr.  Spangler  had  invited  Miss  Ellen 
to  walk  with  him  on  Saturday  afternoon  at  four. 
Now,  as  everybody  knows  in  Old  Chester,  when  a 
gentleman  invites  you  to  walk  out  with  him,  you 
had  better  make  up  your  mind  whether  it  is  to 
be  "  yes  "  or  "  no  "  before  you  start.  As  for 
poor  Ellen,  she  did  not  have  to  make  up  her 
mind ;  it  was  made  up  for  her  by  unconquerable 
circumstances.  If  she  should  "  seek  other  fields 
of  usefulness,"  she  could  not  take  David  with 
her.  It  was  equally  clear  that  she  could  not  leave 
him  behind  her.  Where  would  he  find  his  occa 
sional  new  coat,  or  even  the  hat  with  the  blue 
band,  if  there  were  no  school  in  the  basement? 
Compared  to  love-making  and  romance,  how 
sordid  are  questions  about  coats!  Yet,  before 
35 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

starting  on  that  Saturday-afternoon  walk,  poor, 
pretty  Miss  Ellen,  tying  the  strings  of  her  many- 
times  retrimmed  bonnet  under  her  quivering  chin, 
asked  them,  and  could  find  no  answer  except  that 
if  he  should  "say  anything,"  why,  then,  she  must 
say  "no"  ;  but,  of  course,  he  wasn't  going  to  say 
anything.  So  she  tied  her  washed  and  ironed 
brown  ribbons  into  a  neat  bow,  and  started  down 
the  street  with  the  Reverend  Mr.  Spangler. 

David  Baily,  watching  them  from  the  gate, 
ruminated  over  obvious  possibilities.  Mrs.  Bark- 
ley  had  opened  his  eyes  to  the  fact  that  Mr. 
Spangler  "  was  taking  notice,"  and  David  was 
not  without  a  certain  family  pride  in  a  minis 
terial  proposal.  "  He'll  do  it  this  afternoon," 
said  David;  and  went  pottering  back  into  the 
empty  school-room  to  mend  a  bench  that  Ellen 
told  him  needed  a  nail  or  two.  But  the  room 
was  still  and  sunny,  and  Ellen's  chair  was  com 
fortable;  and  sitting  there  to  think  about  the 
bench,  he  nodded  once  or  twice,  and  then  dozed 
for  an  hour.  When  he  awoke  it  seemed  best  to 
mend  the  bench  the  next  day;  then,  yawning, 
and  staring  vacantly  out  of  the  window,  he  saw 
Mrs.  Smily,  and  it  seemed  only  friendly  to  go 
out  and  tell  her  (confidentially)  what  was  going 
to  happen. 

36 


REVEREND   MR.    SPANGLER 

"  It  will  make  quite  a  difference  to  you,  won't 
it?"  Mrs.  Smily  said. 

"  Oh,"  David  said,  blankly,  "  that  hadn't  oc 
curred  to  me.  However,"  he  added,  with  a  little 
sigh,  "  my  sister's  happiness  is  my  first  thought." 

Mrs.  Smily  clasped  her  hands.  "  Mr.  Baily, 
I  do  think  you  are  real  noble !"  she  said. 

Mr.  David  stood  very  erect.  "  Oh,  you 
mustn't  flatter  me,  ma'am." 

"  Mr.  Baily,  I  never  flatter,"  Mrs.  Smily  said, 
gravely.  "  I  don't  think  it's  right." 

And  David  thought  to  himself  how  noble  Mrs. 
Smily  was.  Indeed,  her  nobility  was  so  much 
in  his  mind  that,  strangely  enough,  he  quite  for 
got  Ellen's  exciting  afternoon.  He  remembered 
it  the  next  morning,  but  when  he  essayed  a  lit 
tle  joke  and  a  delicate  question,  the  asperity 
with  which  the  mild  Ellen  answered  him  left 
him  gaping  with  astonishment.  Evidently  Mr. 
Spangler  had  not  spoken.  David  would  have 
been  less  (or  more)  than  a  human  brother  if  he 
had  not  smiled  a  very  little  at  that.  "  Ellen  ex 
pected  it,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  Well,  I  did  my 
self,  and  so  did  Mrs.  Barkley."  It  never  occur 
red  to  him  that  the  Reverend  Mr.  Spangler  might 
also  have  had  expectations  which  left  him  dis 
appointed  and  mortified.  Yet  when  a  gentleman 
37 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

of  Mr.  Spangler's  age — one,  too,  whose  income 
barely  suffices  for  his  own  comfort,  and  who,  add 
ed  to  this,  has  had  his  doubts  whether  the  celi 
bacy  of  the  clergy  may  not  be  a  sacrament  of 
grace — when  such  a  gentleman  does  make  up  his 
mind  to  offer  himself — to  offer  himself,  more 
over,  to  a  lady  no  longer  in  her  first  youth,  who 
is  pleasing  perhaps  to  the  eye,  but  not,  certainly, 
excessively  beautiful,  and  whose  fortune  is  merely 
(and  most  meritoriously,  of  course)  in  her  char 
acter  and  understanding — it  is  a  blow  to  pride 
to  be  refused.  Mr.  Spangler  found  it  hard  to 
labor  at  the  sacred  desk  that  morning ;  yet  no  one 
would  have  thought  it,  to  see  the  fervor  with 
which,  as  Old  Chester  said,  he  "  went  through 
his  performances." 

But  he  read  the  service,  hot  at  heart  and  hop 
ing  that  Miss  Baily  observed  how  intensely  his 
attention  was  fixed  on  things  above.  When  he 
stood  in  the  chancel  waiting  for  the  collection- 
plates,  and  saying,  in  a  curious  sing-song,  abso 
lutely  new  to  Old  Chester,  "  Zaccheus  stood 
forth,  and  said,  Behold,  Lord — "  his  glance, 
roving  over  the  congregation,  rested  once  on 
Ellen  Baily,  and  was  as  carefully  impersonal 
as  though  she  were  only  a  part  of  the  pew 
in  which  she  sat.  Miss  Ellen  thrilled  at  that 
38 


REVEREND   MR.    SPANGLER 

high  indifference;  it  occurred  to  her  that  even 
had  David's  circumstances  been  different,  she 
could  scarcely  have  dared  to  accept  the  hand  of 
this  high  creature. 

" — the  half  of  all  my  goods — "  said  Mr. 
Spangler.  Yes,  it  was  inconceivable,  considering 
what  he  was  offering  her,  that  Ellen  Baily  could 
let  her  brother  stand  in  the  way ! 

All  that  long,  pleasant  spring  Sunday,  Au 
gustus  Spangler  was  very  bitter.  All  that  week 
he  was  distinctly  angry.  He  said  to  himself 
that  he  was  glad  that  Dr.  Lavendar  was  soon  to 
return ;  he  would,  after  making  his  report  of  the 
parish,  shake  the  dust  of  Old  Chester  from  off 
his  feet  as  witness  against  Miss  Baily,  and  de 
part.  By  the  next  Sunday  he  had  ceased  to  be 
angry,  but  his  pride  was  still  deeply  wounded. 
By  Wednesday  he  had  softened  to  melancholy; 
he  was  able  to  say  that  it  all  came  from  her  sense 
of  duty.  Unreasonable,  of  course,  but  still  duty. 
Then,  on  Thursday,  suddenly,  he  was  startled 
by  a  question  in  his  own  mind :  Was  it  unreason 
able?  If  she  gave  up  her  teaching — "what 
would  that  fellow  live  on?" 

That  was  a  very  bad  moment  to  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Spangler.  Pride  vanished  in  honest  unhap- 
piness.  He  began  to  think  again  about  his  in- 
4  39 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

come ;  he  had  known  that  to  marry  a  wife  meant 
greater  economy ;  but  sacrifices  had  not  seemed 
too  difficult  considering  that  that  wife  was  to  be 
Miss  Ellen  Baily.  But  if  the  wife  must  be  Miss 
Baily  plus—"  that  fellow  "  ! 

"  It  is  out  of  the  question,"  said  poor  Mr. 
Spangler,  and  arose  and  paced  up  and  down  the 
study.  He  was  very  miserable;  and  the  more 
miserable  he  became,  the  more  in  love  he  knew 
himself  to  be.  "  But  it  is  madness  to  think  of 
the  matter  further,"  he  told  himself,  sternly — 
"  madness !" 

Yet  he  kept  on  thinking  of  it — or  of  Miss 
Ellen's  dark  eyes,  and  her  smile,  and  the  way  her 
hair  curled  in  little  rings  about  her  temples. 
"  But  it's  impossible  —  impossible !"  he  said. 
Then,  absently,  he  made  some  calculations:  To 
meet  the  support  of  David  Baily  he  would  have 
to  have  an  increase  of  so  much  in  his  income  or 
a  decrease  of  so  much  in  his  expenses.  "  Mad 
ness  !"  said  Augustus  Spangler,  firmly.  "  But 
how  her  eyes  crinkle  up  when  she  smiles !" 

Yet  it  took  another  day  before  the  real  man 
conquered.  His  expenses  should  be  decreased, 
and  David  should  live  with  them. 

Yes,  it  would  mean  undeniable  pinching;  he 
must  give  up  this  small  luxury  and  that;  his 
40 


REVEREND  MR.   SPANGLER 

Mary  Ann  could  not  broil  his  occasional  sweet 
bread  ;  and  the  occasional  new  book  must  be  bor 
rowed  from  the  library,  not  purchased  for  his 
own  shelves.  He  must  push  about  to  get  more 
supplying.  He  had  meant  to  come  down  one 
step  when  he  got  married;  well,  he  would  have 
to  come  down  two — yes,  or  three.  But  he  would 
have  Miss  Baily.  And  warmed  with  this  tender 
thought,  he  sat  down,  then  and  there,  at  nearly 
midnight,  and  wrote  Miss  Ellen  a  letter.  It 
was  a  beautiful  letter,  full  of  most  beautiful 
sentiments  expressed  with  great  elegance  and 
gentility.  It  appreciated  Miss  Ellen's  devotion 
to  her  family,  and  acknowledged  that  a  sense  of 
duty  was  a  part  of  the  character  of  a  Christian 
female.  It  protested  that  it  was  far  from  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Spangler  to  interfere  with  that 
sense  of  duty;  on  the  contrary,  he  would  share 
it;  nay  more,  he  would  assist  it,  for  duty  was, 
he  hoped,  the  watchword  of  his  life.  If  Miss 
Baily  would  consent  to  become  his  wife,  Mr. 
Baily,  he  trusted,  would  make  his  home  with  his 
sister. 

Mr.  Spangler  may  have  been  addicted  to  petti 
coats  (in  his  own  toilet)  and  given  to  candles 
and  other  emblems  of  the  Scarlet  Woman,  but 
his  letter,  beneath  its  stilted  phrase,  was  an 


DR.   LAVENDAR'S   PEOPLE 

honest,  manly  utterance,  and  Ellen  Baily  read 
it,  thrilling  with  happiness  and  love. 

That  was  Friday,  and  she  had  only  time  to 
read  those  thin,  blue  pages  and  thrust  them  into 
the  bosom  of  her  dress,  when  it  was  time  to  go  to 
school  and  hear  her  girls  declare  that  the  Amazon 
was  the  largest  river  in  South  America ;  but  we 
might  have  said  it  was  the  largest  river  in  Penn 
sylvania,  and  Miss  Ellen  would  have  gone  on 
smiling  at  us.  At  recess  we  poured  out  into 
the  garden,  eager  to  say,  "  Goodness !  do  you 
suppose  he's  popped?"  The  older  girls  were 
especially  excited,  but  they  took  their  usual  fur 
tive  look  about  the  garden  before  sitting  down 
on  the  steps  to  eat  their  luncheons.  Alas,  He 
was  not  there ! 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Lydia  Wright,  "  he  has  gone 
to  the  tomb." 

This,  for  the  moment,  was  deliciously  sadden 
ing  ;  but,  after  all,  real  live  love-making,  even  of 
very  old  people,  is  more  fascinating  than  dead 
romance.  Through  the  open  window  we  could 
see  Miss  Ellen  sitting  at  her  desk,  writing. 
There  were  some  sheets  of  blue  paper  spread  out 
in  front  of  her,  and  she  would  glance  at  them, 
and  then  write  a  little,  and  then  glance  back 
again,  and  smile,  and  write.  But  she  did  not 


REVEREND   MR.   SPANGLER 

look  troubled,  or  "  cross,"  as  the  girls  called  it ; 
so  we  knew  it  could  not  be  an  exercise  that  she 
was  correcting.  But  when  she  came  out  to  us, 
and  said,  in  a  sweet,  fluttered  voice,  "  Children, 
will  one  of  you  take  this  lettter  to  the  post- 
office?"  we  knew  what  it  meant — for  it  was  ad 
dressed  to  the  Reverend  Mr.  Spangler.  How  we 
all  ran  with  it  to  the  post-office ! — giggling  and 
palpitating  and  sighing  as  our  individual  tem 
peraments  might  suggest.  In  fact,  I  know  one 
girl  who  squeezed  a  tear  out  of  each  eye,  she  was 
so  moved.  When  we  came  back,  there  was  Miss 
Baily  still  sitting  at  her  desk,  her  cheek  on  one 
hand,  her  smiling  eyes  fastened  on  those  sheets 
of  blue  paper.  "  Gracious,"  said  the  girls, 
"  what  a  long  recess !"  and  told  each  other  to  be 
quiet  and  not  remind  her  to  ring  the  bell. 

Then  suddenly  something  happened.   .   .  . 

An  old  carry-all  came  shambling  along  the 
road ;  there  were  two  people  in  it,  and  one  of 
them  leaned  over  from  the  back  seat  and  said  to 
the  driver :  "  This  is  my  house.  Stop  here, 
please."  The  girls,  clustering  like  pigeons  on 
the  sunny  doorstep,  began  to  fold  up  their 
luncheon-boxes,  and  look  sidewise,  with  beating 
hearts,  towards  the  gate — for  it  was  He!  How 
graceful  he  was — how  elegant  in  his  manners ! 
43 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

Ah,  if  our  mothers  had  bidden  us  have  manners 
like  Mr.  David  ! — but  they  never  did.  They  used 
to  say,  "  Try  and  behave  as  politely  as  Miss 
Maria  Wclwood,"  or,  "  I  hope  you  will  be  as 
modest  in  your  deportment  as  Miss  Sally  Smith." 
And  there  was  this  model  before  our  eyes.  It 
makes  my  heart  beat  now  to  remember  how  He 
got  out  of  that  rattling  old  carriage  and  turned 
and  lifted  his  hat  to  a  lady  inside,  and  gave  her 
his  hand  (ah,  me!)  and  held  back  her  skirts  as 
she  got  out,  and  bowed  again  when  she  reached 
the  ground.  She  was  not  much  to  look  at ;  she 
was  only  the  lady  wrho  was  visiting  at  the  Stuffed- 
Animal  House,  and  she  was  dressed  in  black,  and 
her  bonnet  was  on  one  side.  They  stood  there 
together  in  the  sunshine,  and  Mr.  David  felt 
slowly  in  all  his  pockets ;  then  he  turned  to  us, 
sitting  watching  him  with  beating  hearts. 

"  Little  girls,"  he  said — he  was  near-sighted, 
and,  absorbed  as  he  always  was  with  sorrow,  we 
never  expected  him  to  know  our  names — "  little 
girls,  one  of  you,  go  in  and  ask  my  sister  for 
two  coach  fares,  if  you  please." 

We  rose  in  a  body  and  swarmed  back  into 
the  school-room  —  just  as  Miss  Ellen  with  a 
start  looked  at  the  clock  and  put  out  her  hand 
to  ring  the  bell.  "  Mr.  David  says,  please, 


REVEREND   MR.    SPANGLER 

ma'am,  will  you  give  him  money  for  two  coach 
fares?" 

Miss  Ellen,  rummaging  in  her  pocket  for  her 
purse,  said :  "  Yes,  my  love.  Will  you  take  this 
to  my  brother?"  Just  why  she  followed  us  as 
we  ran  out  into  the  garden  with  her  purse  per 
haps  she  hardly  knew  herself.  But  as  she  stood 
in  the  doorway,  a  little  uncertain  and  wondering, 
Mr.  David  led  the  shabby,  shrinking  lady  up  to 
her. 

"  My  dear  Ellen,"  he  said,  "  I  have  a  present 
for  you — a  sister" 

Then  the  little,  shabby  lady  stepped  forward 
and  threw  herself  on  Miss  Ellen's  shoulder. 

"  A  sister?"  Ellen  Baily  said,  bewildered. 

"  We  were  married  this  morning  in  Upper 
Chester,"  said  Mr.  David,  "  and  I  have  brought 
her  home.  Now  we  shall  all  be  so  happy !" 


THAT  evening  Dr.  Lavendar  came  home.  Of 
course  all  the  real  Old  Chester  was  on  hand  to 
welcome  him. 

When  the  stage  came  creaking  up  to  the 
tavern  steps,  the  old  white  head  was  bare,  and 
the  broad-brimmed  shabby  felt  hat  was  waving 
tremulously  in  the  air. 

"  Here  I  am,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar,  clambering 
down  stiffly  from  the  box-seat.  "  What  mischief 
have  you  all  been  up  to  ?" 

There  was  much  laughing  and  hand-shaking, 
and  Dr.  Lavendar,  blinking  very  hard,  and 
flourishing  his  red  silk  pocket  -  handkerchief, 
clapped  Mr.  Spangler  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  about  'em?  Didn't  I  tell 
you  they  were  the  best  people  going?  But  we 
mustn't  let  'em  know  it;  makes  'em  vain,"  said 
Dr.  Lavendar,  with  great  show  of  secrecy. 
"  And  look  here,  Sam  Wright !  You  fellows 
may  congratulate  yourselves.  Spangler  here 
has  had  a  fine  business  offer  made  him,  haven't 
46 


REVEREND  MR.   SPANGLER 

you,  Mr.  Spangler?  and  it's  just  your  luck  that 
you  got  him  to  supply  for  you  before  he  left 
this  part  of  the  country.  A  little  later  he 
wouldn't  have  looked  at  Old  Chester.  Hey, 
Spangler?" 

"  Oh,  that's  settled,"  Mr.  Spangler  said. 

declined— 

"  Oh,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar,  "  have  you?    Well, 

I'm  sorry  for  'em." 

And  Augustus  Spangler  smiled  as  heartily  as 
anybody.  He  had  a  letter  crushed  up  in  his 
hand;  he  had  read  it  walking  down  from  the 
post-office  to  the  tavern,  and  now  he  was  ready 
to  say  that  Old  Chester  was  the  finest  place  in  the 
world.  He  could  hardly  wait  to  get  Dr.  Laven 
dar  to  himself  in  the  rectory  before  telling  him 
his  great  news  and  giving  him  a  little  three- 
cornered  note  from  Ellen  Baily  which  had  been 
enclosed  in  his  own  letter. 

"  Well,  well,  well,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar. 
He  had  put  on  a  strange  dressing-gown  of 
flowered  cashmere  and  his  worsted-work  slippers, 
and  made  room  for  his  shaggy  old  Danny  in  his 
leather  chair,  and  lighted  his  pipe.     "  Now  tell 
us  the  news!"  he  said.     And  was  all  ready  to 
hear  about  the  Sunday-school  teachers,  and  the 
choir,    and    Sam   Wright's   Protestantism,   and 
4-7 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

many  other  important  things.  But  not  at 
all:— 

"  Pm  engaged  to  be  married" 

"  Well,  well,  well,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar,  blink 
ing  and  chuckling  with  pleasure ;  then  he  read 
Ellen's  little  note.  "  I  had  to  tell  you  myself," 
Ellen  wrote  him,  "  because  I  am  so  happy."  And 
then  there  were  a  dozen  lines  in  which  her  heart 
overflowed  to  this  old  friend.  "  Dear  child,  dear 
child,"  he  murmured  to  himself.  To  no  one 
but  Dr.  Lavendar — queer,  grizzled,  wrinkled  old 
Dr.  Lavendar,  with  never  a  romance  or  a  love- 
affair  that  anybody  had  ever  heard  of — could 
Miss  Ellen  have  showed  her  heart.  Even  Mr. 
Spangler  did  not  know  that  heart  as  Dr.  Laven 
dar  did  when  he  finished  Ellen's  little  letter. — 
And  Dr.  Lavendar  didn't  tell.  "  I  am  so 
happy,"  said  Miss  Ellen.  Dr.  Lavendar  may 
have  looked  at  Mr.  Spangler  and  wondered  at 
the  happiness.  But,  after  all,  wonder,  on  some 
body's  part,  is  a  feature  of  every  engagement. 
And  if  the  wonder  is  caused  only  by  the  man's 
coat,  and  not  by  his  character,  why  be  distressed 
about  it  ?  Mr.  Spangler  was  an  honest  man ; 
if  his  mind  was  narrow,  it  was  at  least  sincere ; 
if  his  heart  was  timid,  it  was  very  kind ;  if  his 
nature  was  lazy,  it  was  clean  and  harmless.  So 
48 


REVEREND   MR.    SPANGLER 

why  shouldn't  Ellen  Baily  love  him?  And  why 
shouldn't  Dr.  Lavendar  bubble  over  with  happi 
ness  in  Ellen's  happiness? 

"  She's  the  best  girl  in  the  world,"  he  told  Mr. 
Spangler.  "  I  congratulate  you.  She's  a  good 
child — a  good  child." 

Mr.  Spangler  agreed,  in  a  somewhat  solemn 
manner. 

"  But  David — how  about  David?" 

"  My  house  shall  always  be  open  to  Mrs. 
Spangler's  relatives,"  said  Mr.  Spangler,  with 
Christian  pride. 

"  You  are  a  good  fellow,  Spangler,"  Dr. 
Lavendar  said;  and  listened,  chuckling,  to  Mr. 
Spangler's  awkward  and  correct  expressions  of 
bliss.  For  indeed  he  was  very  happy,  and  talked 
about  Miss  Ellen's  virtues  (which  so  eminently 
qualified  her  to  become  his  wife),  as  fatuously 
as  any  lover  could. 

"  Hi,  you,  Danny,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar,  after 
half  an  hour  of  it,  "  stop  growling." 

"  There's  somebody  at  the  door,"  said  Au 
gustus  Spangler,  and  went  into  the  entry  to  see 
who  it  was.  He  came  back  with  a  letter,  which 
he  read,  standing  by  the  table ;  then  he  sat  down 
and  looked  white.  Dr.  Lavendar,  joyously,  was 
singing  to  himself : 

*  49 


DR.   LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

"  *  Ten-cent  Jimmy  and  his  minions 
Cannot  down  the  Woolly  Horse.' 

"  Spangler,  we  must  drink  to  your  very  good 
health  and  prospects.  Let's  have  Mary  bring 
the  glasses." 

"  I  fear,"  said  Mr.  Spangler — he  stopped, 
his  voice  unsteady.  "  I  regret — 

"  Hullo !"  said  Dr.  Lavendar,  looking  at  him 
over  his  spectacles;  "  what's  wrong?" 

"  I'm  extremely  sorry  to  say,"  said  poor  Mr. 
Spangler,  "  that— it  can't  be." 

"  A  good  glass  of  wine,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar, 
"  never  hurt — 

"  I  refer,"  said  Mr.  Spanglcr,  sighing,  "  to 
my  relations  with  Miss  Ellen  Baily." 

Dr.  Lavendar  looked  at  him  blankly. 

"  I  have  just  received  a  letter,"  the  poor  man 
went  on,  "  in  which  she  informs  me  that  it  can 
never  be."  His  lip  trembled,  but  he  held  him 
self  very  straight  and  placed  the  letter  in  his 
breast-pocket  with  dignity. 

"  Spanglcr,  what  are  you  talking  about?" 

"  It  appears,"  said  Mr.  Spanglcr,  "  that  her 
brother—" 

"Fiddlesticks!"   said   Dr.   Lavendar.      "Has 
Ellen   started   up   some   fantastic   conscientious 
ness  ?    Spanglcr,  women's  consciences  are  respon- 
50 


REVEREND  MR.   SPANGLER 

sible  for  much  unhappiness  in  this  world.  But 
I  won't  have  it  in  my  parish!  I'll  manage 
Ellen;  trust  me."  He  pulled  at  his  pipe, 
which  had  gone  out  in  these  moments  of  agita 
tion.  "I  tell  you,  sir,"  he  said,  striking  a 
match  on  the  bottom  of  his  chair,  "  these 
saintly,  self -sacrificing  women  do  a  fine  work 
for  the  devil,  if  they  only  knew  it,  bless  their 
hearts." 

"You  misapprehend,"  said  Mr.  Spangler, 
wretchedly;  and  then  told  Miss  Ellen's  news. 
It  was  brief  enough,  this  last  letter;  there  was 
no  blame  of  David;  indeed,  he  had  displayed, 
Miss  Baily  said,  "  a  true  chivalry ;  but  of 
course—"  "  Of  course,"  said  Mr.  Spangler. 

But  Dr.  Lavendar  broke  out  so  fiercely  that 
Danny  squeaked  and  jumped  down  out  of  the 
chair.  "Upon  my  word;  upon  my  word, 
Spangler,  what  were  you  thinking  of  to  let  it 
go  on?  If  I  had  been  at  home,  it  would  never — 
upon  my  word!'9  This  was  one  of  the  times 
that  Dr.  Lavendar  felt  the  limitations  of  his 
office  in  regard  to  language.  Mr.  Spangler,  his 
elbows  on  his  knees,  his  chin  on  hands,  was  star 
ing  miserably  at  the  floor. 

"  I  shall,  I  trust,  meet  it  in  the  proper  spirit," 
he  said. 

51 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

Dr.  Lavcndar  nodded.  "  Of  course,"  he  said. 
"  Fortunately,  she  is  dealing  with  a  man  who 
has  backbone — perhaps." 

Mr.  Spanglcr  sighed.  "  I  regret  to  say  that 
her  presence  in  her  school  under  the  circum 
stances  does  seem  imperative." 

Dr.  Lavcndar  lighted  his  pipe.  "  Do  you 
mean  on  account  of  money,  Spangler?" 

"  The  support  of  Mr.  David  Baily  and  this— 
this  female,  must  be  met,  I  suppose,  by  Miss 
Baily's  school." 

"  You  are  not  so  situated  that  you — "  began 
Dr.  Lavcndar,  delicately. 

"  My  circumstances,"  said  Augustus  Spang 
ler,  "  are  not  affluent.  I  have  my  residence  in 
Mercer;  and  I  supply,  as  you  know.  But  my 
income  barely  suffices  for  one.  Four — would  be 
out  of  the  question." 

Dr.  Lavcndar  looked  at  Ellen's  little,  happy 
note,  lying  half  open  on  the  table.  "  Poor  old 
jack-donkey  of  a  David!"  he  groaned. 

"  His  selfishness,"  said  Augustus  Spanglcr, 
between  his  teeth,  his  voice  suddenly  trembling 
with  anger,  "  is  perfectly  incomprehensible  to 
me — perfectly  incomprehensible  !  I  endeavor  al 
ways  to  exercise  charity  in  judging  any  human 
creature;  but — really,  really!" 
52 


REVEREND   MR.    SPANGLER 

"  It  isn't  selfishness  as  much  as  silliness.  David 
hasn't  mind  enough  to  be  deliberately  selfish. 
The  poor  fellow  never  thought.  He  never  has 
thought.  Ellen  has  always  done  the  thinking 
for  the  family.  Well,  the  harm's  done.  But, 
Spangler —  '  the  old  man  stopped  and  glanced 
sharply  at  the  forlorn  and  angry  man  opposite 
him.  Yes,  he  certainly  seemed  very  unhappy  ; — 
and  as  for  Ellen!  Dr.  Lavendar  could  not  bear 
that  thought.  "  Spangler,  I'll  stand  by  you. 
I  won't  let  her  offer  you  up  as  well  as  herself. 
There  must  be  some  way  out." 

Mr.  Spangler  shook  his  head  hopelessly. 
"  The  support  of  four  persons  on  my  small  sti 
pend  is  impossible." 

"  Spangler,  my  boy  !"  said  Dr.  Lavendar,  sud 
denly,  "  there  is  a  way  out.  What  an  old  fool 
I  am  not  to  have  thought  of  it!  My  dear  fel 
low  " — Dr.  Lavendar  leaned  over  and  tapped 
Mr.  Spangler's  knee,  chuckling  aloud—"  that 
secretaryship !" 

"  Secretaryship?"  Mr.  Spangler  repeated, 
vaguely. 

"  You  declined  it  ?     I  know.     But  I  don't  be 
lieve  Brown's  got  a  man  yet.     I  heard  from  him 
on  another  matter,  yesterday,  and  he  didn't  say 
he  had.     Anyway,  it's  worth  trying  for.     We 
53 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

can  telegraph  him  to-morrow,"  said  Dr.  Laven- 
dar,  excitedly. 

Mr.  Spangler  stared  at  him  in  bewilderment. 

"  But,"  he  said,  breathlessly,  "  I— I  don't  think 

—I  fear  I  am  not  fit."    He  felt  as  if  caught  in  a 

sudden  wind ;  his  face  grew  red  with  agitation. 

"  I  declined  it !"  he  ended,  gasping. 

"  Fit?"  said  Dr.  Lavendar.  "  My  dear  man, 
what  fitness  is  needed?  There's  nothing  to  it, 
Spangler,  I  assure  you."  Dr.  Lavendar  Was 
very  much  in  earnest ;  he  sat  forward  on  the  edge 
of  his  chair  and  gesticulated  with  his  pipe. 
"  Don't  be  too  modest,  my  boy." 

"  Business  entails  such  responsibilities,"  Mr. 
Spangler  began,  in  a  frightened  voice. 

"  Oh,  but  this  is  mere  routine,"  Dr.  Lavendar 
interrupted ;  "  they  want  a  clergyman — some 
body  with  tact.  There's  a  good  deal  of  church 
politics  in  it,  I  suppose,  and  they've  got  to  have 
somebody  who  would  never  step  on  anybody's 
toes." 

"  I  would  never  do  that,"  said  Mr.  Spangler, 
earnestly,  "  but — " 

"  No,"  said  Dr.  Lavcndar,  abruptly,  his  voice 

changing — "  no,   Spangler,   you   never  would." 

Then  he  was  silent  for  a  moment,  pulling  on 

his  pipe,  wondering  perhaps,  in  spite  of  him- 

54 


REVEREND   MR.   SPANGLER 

self,  at  Ellen.  "  No,  you  never  would.  You 
see,  you  are  just  the  man  for  the  place.  Brown 
said  they  wanted  somebody  who  was  present 
able;  he  said  they  didn't  need  any  par 
ticular  abil — I  mean  any  particular  business 
ability." 

"  But,"  said  Mr.  Spangler,  "  to  give  up  my 
sacred  calling — 

"  Spangler,  come  now !  you  don't  '  call  '  very 
loudly,  do  you?  There,  my  dear  boy,  let  an 
old  fellow  have  his  joke.  I  merely  mean  you 
don't  preach  as  often  as  if  you  had  a  regular 
parish.  And  you  can  supply,  you  know,  there 
just  as  well  as  here." 

"  The  Master's  service  is  my  first  considera 
tion,"  said  Augustus  Spangler. 

Dr.  Lavendar  looked  at  him  over  his  spec 
tacles.  "Mr.  Spangler,  the  Christian  busi 
ness-man  serves  the  Master  just  as  well  as  we 
do." 

"  I  should  wish  to  reflect,"  said  Mr.  Spangler. 

"  Of  course." 

"  Miss  Baily  would,  I  fear,  object  to  going  so 
far  away." 

"  If  the  place  is  still  open,  I'll  manage  Ellen," 
said  Dr.  Lavendar ;  but  he  looked  at  Mr.  Spang 
ler  narrowly.    "  And  your  own  entreaties  will,  of 
5  55 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

course,  weigh  with  her  if  you  show  determina 
tion.  I  think  you  told  me  you  were  pretty  deter 
mined?" 

"  I  have,"  said  Mr.  Spangler,  "  an  iron  will ; 
but  that  would  not  justify  me  in  insisting  if  Miss 
Baily — "  His  voice  trailed  off;  it  rose  before 
him — the  far-off,  bustling  city,  the  office,  the 
regular  hours,  the  people  whose  toes  must  not  be 
stepped  upon,  the  letters  to  write  and  read,  the 
papers  to  file,  all  the  exact  minutiae  the  position 
involved.  And  his  comfortable  old  house?  his 
leisure?  his  ease?  And  Mary  Ann?  Mary  Ann 
would  never  consent  to  go  so  far !  "  I — I 
really—  "  he  began. 

Dr.  Lavendar  frowned.  "  Mr.  Spangler,  I 
would  not  seem  to  urge  you.  Ellen  is  too  dear 
to  us  for  that.  But  if  you  appreciate  her  as  I 
suppose  you  do — 

"  I  do  indeed !"  broke  in  poor  Augustus 
Spangler,  fervently. 

"  The  way  is  probably  open  to  you." 

"  But — "  said  Mr.  Spangler,  and  then  broke 
out,  with  marked  agitation ;  "  I — I  really  don't 
see  how  I  could  possibly—  Yet  even  as  he 
spoke  he  thought  of  Ellen's  sweet  eyes.  "  Good 
Heavens !"  said,  Mr.  Spangler,  passionately ; 
"what  shall  I  do?" 

56 


REVEREND   MR.   SPANGLER 

But  Dr.  Lavendar  was  silent.  Mr.  Spangler 
got  up  and  began  to  walk  about. 

"  My  affection  and  esteem,"  he  said,  almost 
weeping,  "  are  unquestioned.  But  there  are 
other  considerations." 

Dr.  Lavendar  said  nothing. 

"  It  is  a  cruel  situation,"  said  Mr.  Spangler. 

Dr.  Lavendar  looked  down  at  his  pipe. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Augustus  Spangler 
walked  back  and  forth.  Dr.  Lavendar  said  never 
a  word. 

"  A  man  must  consider  his  own  fitness  for 
such  a  position,"  Mr.  Spangler  said,  pleadingly. 

"  Perhaps,"  Dr.  Lavendar  observed,  mildly, 
"  Ellen's  affections  are  not  very  deeply  engaged? 
It  will  be  better  so." 

"  But  they  are !"  cried  Mr.  Spangler.  "  I 
assure  you  that  they  are!  And  I — I  was  so 
happy,"  said  the  poor  man;  and  sniffed  sud 
denly,  and  tried  to  find  the  pocket  in  his  coat- 
tails. 

Dr.  Lavendar  looked  at  him  out  of  the  corner 
of  his  eye. 

Mr.  Spangler  stood  stock-still ;  he  opened  and 
shut  his  hands,  his  lips  were  pressed  hard  to 
gether.     He  seemed  almost  in  bodily  pain,  for  a 
slight  moisture  stood  out  on  his  forehead.     He 
57 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

was  certainly  in  spiritual  pain.  The  Ideal  of 
Sacrifice  was  being  born  in  Mr.  Spangler's  soul. 
His  mild,  kind,  empty  face  grew  almost  noble ; 
certainly  it  grew  very  solemn. 

"  Dr.  Lavendar,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  / 
will  do  it." 

Dr.  Lavendar  was  instantly  on  his  feet;  there 
was  a  grip  of  the  hand,  and,  for  a  moment,  no 
words. 

"  I'll  telegraph  Mr.  Brown,"  said  Mr.  Spang- 
ler,  breathlessly. 

"  So  will  I !"  said  Dr.  Lavendar. 

Mr.  Spanglcr  was  scarlet  with  heroism.  "  It 
means  giving  up  my  house  and  my  very  con 
genial  surroundings,  and  I  fear  Mary  Ann  will 
feel  too  old  to  accompany  me;  but  with — with 
Ellen !" 

"  She's  worth  six  Mary  Anns,  whoever  Mary 
Ann  may  be,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar. 

'  You  may  have  thought  me  hesitant,"  said 
Mr.  Spangler,  "  but  I  felt  that  I  must  weigh  the 
matter  thoroughly." 

"  Why,  certainly,  man.  It  was  your  duty  to 
think  what  was  best  for  Ellen." 

"  Exactly,"  Mr.  Spangler  said,  getting  his 
breath  again,  and  beginning  to  feel  very 
naPPJ'  "  And  duty  is,  I  hope,  my  watchword ; 
58 


REVEREND  MR.   SPANGLER 

but  I  had  to  reflect,"  he  ended,  a  little  un 
comfortably. 

But  Dr.  Lavendar  would  not  let  him  be  un 
comfortable.  They  sat  down  again,  and  Dr. 
Lavendar  filled  another  pipe,  and  until  long 
after  midnight  they  talked  things  over — the 
allowance  to  be  made  to  David  and  his  bride,  the 
leasing  of  the  house  in  Mercer,  the  possible 
obduracy  of  Mary  Ann,  and,  most  of  all,  the  fine 
conduct  of  the  Reverend  Mr.  Spangler. 

But  when  they  had  said  good-night,  Dr.  Lav 
endar  sat  awhile  longer  by  his  fireside,  his  pipe 
out,  his  old  white  head  on  his  breast. 

"  The  minute  I  get  back,"  he  said  to  himself 
after  a  while,  sheepishly — "  the  minute  I  get 
back  I  poke  my  finger  into  somebody  else's  pie. 
But  I  think  'twas  right:  Ellen  loves  him;  and 
he's  not  a  bad  man. — And  Brown  don't  want 
brains." 

Then  he  chuckled  and  got  up,  and  blew  out 
the  lamp. 


THE   NOTE 


THE   NOTE 


OF  course  everybody  in  Old  Chester  knew  that 
there  was  something  queer  about  Mary  Gordon's 
marriage — not  the  mere  fact  of  the  man,  queer 
as  he  was :  for,  to  Old  Chester's  ideas,  he  was 
very  queer.  .  .  .  A  "  travelling-man,"  to  begin 
with — and  the  Gordons  had  a  line  of  scholars 
and  professional  men  behind  them — a  drummer, 
if  you  please.  In  theory,  Old  Chester  was  re 
ligiously  democratic;  it  plumed  itself  upon  its 
Christian  humility,  and  every  Sunday  it  publicly 
acknowledged  that  Old  Chesterians  were  like  the 
rest  of  humanity  to  the  extent  of  being  miserable 
sinners.  But,  all  the  same,  that  Mary  Gordon 
should  marry  a  "  person  "  of  that  sort — 

"  Dear  me !"  said  Old  Chester. 

However,  travelling-men  may  be  worthy ;  they 
need  not  necessarily  use  perfumery  or  put  po- 
63 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

made  upon  their  shiny,  curly,  black  hair.  But 
Mr.  Algernon  Keen  was  obviously  not  worthy, 
and  he  was  saturated  with  perfumery,  and  his 
black,  curly  hair  was  sleek  with  oil.  Further 
more,  he  was  very  handsome :  his  lips  were  weak 
and  pouting  and  red ;  his  eyes  liquid  and  beauti 
ful;  his  plump  cheeks  slightly  pink.  One  may 
believe  that  such  physical  characteristics  do  not 
imply  moral  qualities ;  but  only  youth  has  such 
a  belief.  When  one  has  lived  a  little  while  in  the 
world,  one  comes  to  know  that  a  human  soul 
prisoned  in  such  pretty  flesh  is  piteously  ham 
pered.  Yet  Mary  Gordon,  meeting  this  poor 
creature  by  chance,  fell  deeply  in  love  with  him. 
Of  course  such  falling  in  love  was  queer — it  was 
inexplainable ;  for  Mary  was  a  nice  girl — not,  of 
course,  of  the  caliber  of  some  Old  Chester  girls ; 
she  had  not  the  mind  of  Alice  Gray  nor  the  con 
science  of  Sally  Smith ;  but  she  was  a  quiet,  bid 
dable,  good  child — at  least  so  far  as  anybody 
knew.  But  nobody  knew  much  about  her.  In 
the  first  place,  the  Gordons  lived  just  far  enough 
out  of  Old  Chester  to  miss  its  neighborliness. 
Mary  was  not  often  seen  in  town,  and  in  her  own 
home  her  brother  Alex's  loud  personality  crushed 
her  into  a  colorless  silence.  Her  father  did  not 
crush  her — he  merely  did  not  notice  her;  but  he 
64 


THE   NOTE 

was  fond  of  her — at  least  he  had  the  habit  of  in 
different  affection.  She  always  came  into  the 
library  to  say  good-night  to  him ;  and  he,  sitting 
by  the  fire  in  a  big,  winged  chair,  a  purple  silk 
handkerchief  spread  over  his  white  locks,  to  keep 
off  possible  draughts,  would  turn  his  cheek  up 
to  her  mechanically ;  but  the  soft  touch  of  her 
lips  never  made  him  lift  his  eyes  from  his  book. 
She  never  kissed  Alex  good-night ;  she  was 
openly  afraid  of  him.  Alex  was  rude  to  her  and 
made  her  wait  on  him,  throwing  her  a  curt 
"  thank  you  "  once  in  a  while,  generally  coupled 
with  some  sarcastic  reference  to  her  slowness  or 
stupidity — for,  indeed,  the  child  was  both  slow 
and  stupid.  Perhaps,  had  she  been  loved—-  But 
no  one  can  tell  now  how  that  would  have  been. 
At  any  rate,  there  was  a  pathetic  explanation  of 
loneliness  to  account  for  the  fact  that  she  was 
drawn  to  this  Algernon  Keen,  who  had  nothing 
to  recommend  him  except  a  cheap  and  easy  kind 
liness  that  cost  him  no  effort  and  was  bestowed 
on  everybody. 

Of  course  the  two  men,  her  father  and  brother, 
refused  to  consider  Keen  as  Mary's  suitor  at  all. 
Alex  nearly  had  a  fit  over  it;  in  his  rage  and 
mortification  he  took  all  Old  Chester  into  his  con 
fidence.  He  went  to  the  Tavern — this  was  the 
6  65 


DR.   LAVENDAR'S   PEOPLE 

day  after  Mary  had,  trembling  and  crying,  told 
her  little  love  affair  to  her  father  and  begged 
his  consent — Alex  went  to  the  Tavern  and  order 
ed  the  snickering,  perfumed  youth  out  of  town. 

"  Well,  I  guess  not,"  said  Algy.  "  This  town 
doesn't  belong  to  you,  does  it  ?" 

Alex  stammered  with  passion :  "  If — if  you 
dare  to  address  Miss  Gordon  again,  I'll — I'll — 
I'll  horsewhip  you,"  he  said,  his  pale  eyes 
bulging  from  his  crimsoning  face. 

"  I  guess  Mary  has  a  right  to  let  me  talk  to 
her  if  she  wants  to;  this  is  a  free  country,"  the 
other  blustered.  And  Alex,  loudly,  on  the  Tav 
ern  steps,  cursed  him  for  a  skunk,  a —  Well, 
Old  Chester  was  never  able  to  quote  Alex.  He 
came  to  his  senses  after  this  dreadful  exhibition 
of  himself,  and  was  horribly  mortified.  But  post- 
mortification  cannot  undo  the  deed,  and  before 
night  everybody  in  Old  Chester  knew  that  Mary 
Gordon  had  fallen  in  love  with — "  the  person 
who  brings  samples  to  Tommy  Dove's  apothe 
cary  shop." 

Old  Chester  was  truly  sorry  for  Mary ;  "  for," 
as  Mrs.  Barkley  said,  "  love's  love,  whether  it's 
suitable  or  not ;  and  Mary  has  such  a  lonely  life, 
poor  child !  Well,  it  will  take  time  for  her  to  get 
over  it." 

66 


SHE    ALWAYS    CAME    INTO    THE    LIBRARY    TO    SAY' 
GOOD-NIGHT    TO     HIM  " 


THE   NOTE 

It  seemed  to  take  a  good  deal  of  time.  That 
winter  she  grew  pale  and  was  often  ill.  The 
poor  little  thing  seemed  to  creep  into  her  shell  to 
brood  over  her  blighted  hopes.  Once  she  was 
downright  sick  for  a  week,  and  Mr.  Gordon  sent 
for  William  King.  Willy  said  at  first  that  Mary 
had  something  on  her  mind  (which  certainly 
Mary's  family  did  not  need  to  be  told). 

"  I  believe  she's  thinking  about  that  scoundrel 
yet,"  said  Alex.  "  But  she  has  just  got  to  un 
derstand  that  we'll  never  allow  it,  Willy.  You 
may  as  well  make  that  clear  to  her,  and  let  her 
get  over  her  moping." 

William  King  looked  thoughtful  and  said  he 
would  call  again. 

However,  any  of  us  Old  Chester  girls  could 
have  enlightened  the  doctor.  "  Mary  was  pin 
ing  away  for  her  lover;"  that  was  all  there 
was  to  it.  But  the  lover  never  appeared,  being 
engaged  in  offering  samples  of  pomade  and  per 
fumery  to  apothecary  stores  in  other  regions. 
And  then,  suddenly,  the  queer  thing  hap 
pened.  .  .  . 

The  Globe  announced :  "  Married — by  Dr. 
Lavendar,  Mary  Gordon  to  Algernon  Keen" — 
and  the  date,  which  was  the  night  before. 

"  What!"  said  Old  Chester  at  the  breakfast- 
67 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

table,  and  gaped  out  of  its  windows  to  see  Mary, 
crying  very  much,  get  into  the  stage,  not  at  her 
father's  house,  but  at  the  Tavern  door,  if  you 
please,  and  drive  away  with  the  Person.  What 
did  it  mean?  "  Was  Alex  at  home ?  Did  he  con 
sent  ?"  demanded  Old  Chester ;  for  Alex  had  been 
away  from  home  for  a  week.  By  noon  it  was  de 
cided  that  Alex  had  consented;  for  it  came  out 
that  he  had  returned  to  Old  Chester  the  previous 
afternoon,  and  with  him,  shrinking  into  the  cor 
ner  of  the  stage,  was  Mr.  Algy  Keen. 

"  Get  out,"  Alex  said  to  him  when  the  stage 
drew  up  at  the  Gordon  house.  The  man  got  out, 
shambling  and  stumbling,  with  a  furtive  look 
over  his  shoulder,  for  Alex  Gordon  walked  be 
hind  him  to  the  front  door,  his  right  hand  grip 
ped  upon  his  walking-stick,  his  left  clinched  at 
his  side. 

"  He  kcp'  just  behind  the  feller,"  the  stage- 
driver  told  Van  Horn  at  the  Tavern  afterwards 
— "  just  behind  him,  like  as  if  he  was  afraid  the 
fcller'd  run  away  from  him.  But  the  feller,  he 
stopped  right  at  the  steps,  and  he  turned  around, 
and  he  says,  '  Mind  you,'  he  says  (mad  as  a  hat 
ter) — 'mind  you,'  he  says,  'I'm  not  brought, 
I've  come  ' ; — whatever  that  means,"  the  stage- 
driver  ruminated. 

68 


THE   NOTE 

So  much  Old  Chester  knew  the  day  after  Mary 
Gordon's  wedding.  And  it  naturally  sought  to 
know  a  little  more. 

"  I  suppose  her  father  feels  it  very  much?" 
ventured  Mrs.  Barkley  to  Dr.  Lavendar. 

"  Any  man  feels  the  marriage  of  his  only 
girl,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar,  briefly.  And  Mrs. 
Barkley  held  her  tongue.  But  Mrs.  Drayton, 
who  was  just  then  anxious  about  her  soul  and 
found  it  necessary  to  consult  Dr.  Lavendar  as  to 
the  unpardonable  sin — Mrs.  Dray  ton  was  not  so 
easilv  squelched.  "  My  Jean  says  that  the  Gor 
don's  Rachel  told  her  that  Alex  brought  the  man 
into  the  house  by  the  ear,  and  then  sent  her  for 
you,  running,  and — 

"  She  didn't  bring  me  into  the  house  by  the 
ear,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar. 

"  But  why,  do  you  suppose,  was  it  all  so  sud 
den?"  said  Mrs.  Drayton;  "  it  almost  looks— 

"  How  do  you  know  it  was  sudden?"  said  Dr. 
Lavendar. 

"  Well,  my  Jean  said—" 

"  It  may  have  been  sudden  to  Jean,"  said  the 
old  man ;  "  possibly  Mary  had  not  taken  Jean 
into  her  confidence.  Some  folks  don't  confide  in 
servants,  you  know." 

But  Mrs.  Drayton  was  proof  against  so  deli- 
69 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

cate  a  thrust.  "  Well,  I  only  hope  she  won't  re 
pent  at  her  leisure ; — if  there's  nothing  but  haste 
to  repent  of.  If  there's  anything  else — " 

"  I'll  say  good-day,  Mrs.  Drayton,"  inter 
rupted  Dr.  Lavendar ;  "  and  as  for  your  question 
about  the  unpardonable  sin,  ma'am,  why,  just  be 
ready  to  forgive  other  folks  and  you  needn't  be 
afraid  of  the  unpardonable  sin  for  yourself." 

He  took  his  hat  and  stick  and  went  thumping 
down-stairs.  In  the  hall  he  met  William  King 
going  up  to  see  the  invalid,  and  said,  with  a 
gasp :  "  Willy,  my  boy,  a  good,  honest  murderer 
is  easier  to  deal  with  than  some  milder  kinds  of 
wrong-doing." 

"  Dr.  Lavendar,"  said  William,  "  I'd  rather 
have  a  patient  with  small-pox  than  treat  some 
lighter  ills  that  I  could  name." 

As  for  Mrs.  Drayton,  she  told  her  daughter 
that  Dr.  Lavendar  was  very  unspiritual,  and  did 
not  understand  the  distress  of  a  sensitive  tem 
perament.  "  Even  the  slightest  error  fills  me 
with  remorse,"  said  Mrs.  Drayton.  "  Dear  me ! 
I  should  think  Mary  Gordon  would  know  what 
remorse  is — for,  of  course,  there  is  only  one 
thing  to  think." 


II 


OLD  CHESTER  thought  the  one  thing.  No 
evasions  of  Dr.  Lavendar's,  no  miserable  silence 
on  the  part  of  the  disgraced  father  and  the  in 
furiated  brother,  could  banish  that  one  thought. 
But  nothing  definite  was  known.  "  Although," 
as  everybody  said  to  everybody  else,  "  of  course, 
Dr.  Lavendar  knows  the  whole  thing,  and  prob 
ably  Willy  King  does,  too."  If  they  did,  they 
kept  their  knowledge  to  themselves.  But  Dr. 
Lavendar  went  often  to  the  Gordon  house  that 
winter.  "  They're  pretty  lonely,  those  two 
men,"  he  told  Willy  once — perhaps  six  months 
afterwards. 

"  Would  either  of  them  have  softened  if  the 
baby  had  lived,  do  you  think,  sir?"  William  said. 
And  Dr.  Lavendar  shook  his  head. 

"  Perhaps  her  father  might.  But  Alex  will 
never  forgive  her,  I'm  afraid." 

And  Alex  never  did  forgive  her — not  even 
when  she  died,  as,  happily,  she  did  six  or  seven 
years  later.  She  died;  and  life  closed  over  the 
6  71 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

miserable  little  tragedy  as  water  closes,  rippling, 
over  some  poor,  broken  thing  flung  into  its 
depths. 

'  Thank  God!"  Alex  said,  when  he  heard  she 
was  gone. 

c  You  may  thank  God  for  her,"  Dr.  Lavendar 
said,  turning  upon  him  sternly,  "  but  ask  mercy 
for  yourself,  because  this  door  of  opportunity 
is  shut  upon  you  forever." 

Dr.  Lavendar  had  brought  them  the  news. 
They  did  not  ask  how  it  had  come  to  him ;  it  was 
enough  to  hear  it.  The  two  men,  Mary's  father 
and  brother,  listened  while  he  told  them,  briefly: 
"  She  died  yesterday.  The  funeral  will  be  to 
morrow,  at  twelve." 

"  Thank  God !"  Alex  said,  hoarsely,  and  lifted 
his  hand  and  cursed  the  man  who  had  dishonored 
them. 

And  Dr.  Lavendar  turned  upon  him  in  solemn 
anger.      '  Your  opportunity  is  gone — so  far  as 
she  is  concerned.     There  yet  remains,  however, 
the  poor,  foolish  sinner  whom  she  loved — " 
"  Damn  him !"  said  Alex. 
— and  wlw  loved  her" 

Old  Mr.  Gordon  dropped  his  face  in  his  hands 
and  groaned. 

"  Who   loved   her,"   Dr.    Lavendar   repeated. 
72 


THE   NOTE 

"  For  that,  at  least,  he  cannot  be  indifferent  to 
us,  whatever  he  has  made  us  suffer." 

Neither  of  his  listeners  spoke.  It  was  growing 
dark  in  the  long  room,  walled  to  the  ceiling  with 
books  and  lighted  only  by  a  fire  sputtering  in 
the  grate.  Mr.  Gordon,  sitting  in  his  big, 
winged  chair  close  to  the  hearth,  said,  after  a 
long  pause :  "  You  said — to-morrow,  Edward  ? 
Where?" 

"  In  Mercer.  I  shall  go  up  on  the  morning 
stage." 

Again  the  silence  fell.  Alex  got  up  and  walk 
ed  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  "  Why  didn't 
you  bring  Danny  in,  Dr.  Lavendar?'''  he  said, 
carelessly ;  "  the  little  brute  will  freeze  out  there 
in  your  buggy.  I'll  call  him  in."  He  turned  to 
leave  the  room,  and  then  stopped. 

"  Alexander,  sit  down,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar. 

Alex  sat  down  with  involuntary  quickness; 
then  he  threw  his  legs  out  in  front  of  him  and 
thrust  his  hands  down  into  his  pockets.  "  Dr. 
Lavendar,  this  is  our  affair.  I'm  obliged  to  you 
for  your  kind  intentions ;  but  this  is  our  affair. 
You've  told  your  news,  and  we  have  listened  re 
spectfully — if  I  should  say  gladly  you  might  be 
shocked.  So  I  only  say  respectfully.  But  you 
have  spoken ;  we  have  listened.  That  is  all  there 
73 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

is  to  it.  The  thing  is  finished.  The  book  is 
closed.  I  say  thank  God!  I  don't  know  what 
my  father  says.  If  he  takes  my  advice,  for  I've 
been  a  good  son  to  him ;  I  never  gave  him  any 
cause  to  be  ashamed; — if  he  takes  my  advice, 
he'll  forget  the  whole  affair.  That's  what  I 
mean  to  do.  The  book  is  closed.  I  shall  never 
think  of  it  again."  He  got  up  and  walked 
about  with  affectation  of  vast  indifference. 

"  Alex,  you  will  probably  never  think  of  any 
thing  else,"  Dr.  Lavendar  said,  half  pitifully; 
and  then,  sternly,  again :  "  I  can't  make  you  ac 
cept  the  opportunity  that  still  is  open  to  you; 
but  I  will  point  it  out  to  you:  Come  up  to 
Mercer  to-morrow  with  your  father  and  me." 

"  Mercer !"  the  younger  man  cried  out, 
furiously;  "  you  mean  to  see  her  buried?  To 
dance  on  her  grave  and  pull  the  man  out  and 
spit  in  his  face  and — "  He  stopped,  his  face 
suddenly  purpling,  his  light  eyes  staring  and 
rolling;  then  he  stumbled  and  jerked  himself  to 
gether,  and  lurched  forward  into  a  chair,  breath 
ing  loudly.  The  two  old  men,  trembling  with 
horror,  ran  to  him.  "Oh,  Edward,"  John 
Gordon  said — "  oh,  Edward,  why  did  you  rouse 
him?  He  can't  speak  of  it,  he  can't  think  of  it. 
Alex — there ! — we'll  say  no  more  about  it." 
74 


LURCHED    FORWARD   INTO    A    CHAIR,    BREATHING 
LOUDLY  " 


THE   NOTE 

Alex  stared  at  them  with  glassy  eyes,  in 
silence;  his  father  kept  bemoaning  himself  and 
imploring  his  old  friend  to  say  no  more.  "  You 
won't  speak  of  it  again,  Edward?  He  goes  out 
of  his  head  with  rage.  Promise  me  not  to  speak 
of  it  any  more." 

"  No,  John ;  no,"  Dr.  Lavendar  said,  sadly ; 
and  as  Alex's  eyes  cleared  into  bewildered  con 
sciousness,  the  old  minister  stood  a  little  aside 
while  the  father  helped  the  son  to  his  feet  and 
led  him  away.  When  he  came  back,  shuffling 
feebly  down  the  long,  darkening  room,  Dr. 
Lavendar  was  still  sitting  by  the  fire.  "  He's 
quiet  now ;  I — I  think  he's  ashamed.  I  hope  so. 
But  he  won't  come  out  of  his  room." 
Dr.  Lavendar  nodded. 

John  Gordon  spread  his  purple  handkerchief 
over  his  white  locks,  with  shaking  hands,  and 
then  sat  down,  tumbling  back  in  his  chair  in  a 
forlorn  heap.  "  Edward,"  he  said,  feebly,  "  tell 
me  about  it.  It  was  on  Thursday?  Had  she 
been  sick  long?"  Then,  in  a  low  voice,  "  She — 
didn't  lack  for  comforts?" 

"No;  I  think  not.     The  man  was  as  tender 

with  her  as — as  you  might  have  been.     She  was 

sick — I  mean  in  bed — two  weeks.     She  had  been 

ailing  for  a  long  time ;  you  remember  I  spoke  to 

75 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

you  about  it  about  a  month  ago.     And  again 
last  week." 

"You — saw  her?" 
"  Yes." 

"  More  than  once?" 

"  Oh,  many  times,"  Dr.  Lavendar  said,  sim 
ply  ;  "  many  times,  of  course." 

John  Gordon  put  out  his  hand ;  Dr.  Lavendar 
shook  it  silently.  Then  suddenly  the  old  man 
broke  out,  in  weak,  complaining  anger:  "He 
wouldn't  let  me  write  to  her.  I  would  have  sent 
her  some  money.  He  wouldn't  hear  of  it.  He 
was  awful,  Edward.  I — I  didn't  dare." 

Dr.  Lavendar  was  silent.  It  had  grown  so 
dark  that  he  could  not  see  the  father's  face. 
Suddenly,  from  behind  the  leafless  trees  at  the 
foot  of  the  garden,  a  smouldering  yellow  glow 
of  sunset  broke  across  the  gloom  of  the  room, 
and  touched  the  purple  cowl  and  the  veined 
hands  covering  the  aged  face.  Dr.  Lavendar 
sighed. 

"What  can  I  do,  Edward?     I  can't  go  to- 
morrow.     You  see  I  can't." 
"  Yes,  you  can,  John." 

"He  would  die;  he'd  have  another  attack. 
His  heart  is  bad,  Edward." 

"  Oh,  I'm  afraid  it  is,  I'm  afraid  it  is.     But 
76 


THE  NOTE 

John,  you  do  your  duty.  Never  mind  Alex's 
heart.  That  isn't  your  affair." 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't  possibly  go — not  possibly," 
the  father  protested,  nervously. 

The  glow  died  out.  The  room  grew  dusk  and 
then  dark.  Mr.  Gordon  got  up  and  reached  to 
the  mantel-shelf  for  a  spill.  "  Mary  used  to 
make  the  spills  for  me,"  he  said,  vaguely. 
"  Now  our  Rachel  does  it,  and  she  doesn't  half 
bend  the  end  over."  He  lighted  the  spill,  the 
little  flame  flickering  upon  his  poor  old  face  peer 
ing  out  from  under  his  purple  handkerchief. 
"  Oh,  Alex  ought  not  to  be  so  hard.  I  would  go 
with  you  to-morrow,  Edward,  but  I  can't,  you 
know.  I  can't."  Then,  with  a  shaking  hand, 
he  took  off  the  ground-glass  globe  and  lighted 
the  tall  lamp  that  stood  among  a  litter  of  papers 
on  the  library-table.  "  You  see  how  it  is,  Ed 
ward,  don't  you?  I  can't  possibly  go." 

"  You  will  be  sorry  if  you  don't,  John." 

"  I'll  be  sorry  anyhow,"  he  burst  out.  "  I'm 
alwa}^s  sorry.  I've  been  sorry  all  my  life.  My 
children  are  my  sorrow." 


Ill 

ALGY  KEEN,  his  face  swollen  with  crying,  his 
black  hair  limp  and  uncurled,  sat  on  the  edge  of 
the  bed  in  the  back  room  of  a  dingy  Mercer 
lodging-house.  The  windows  had  been  left  open 
after  Mary  had  been  taken  away,  so  that  the 
room  was  cold;  and  there  were  still  two  chairs 
facing  each  other, — a  certain  distance  apart. 
The  room  was  in  dreary  order,  and  there  was  the 
scent  of  flowers  in  the  chill  air.  The  bed  was 
tumbled,  for  the  forlorn  man  had  dropped  down 
upon  it  to  rest.  But  he  was  too  tired  to  rest,  and 
was  sitting  up  again,  dangling  his  stockinged 
feet  on  the  shabby  carpet  and  talking  to  Dr. 
Lavendar.  He  snuffled,  and  his  poor,  weak  lips 
shook,  and  he  rubbed  the  back  of  his  trembling 
hand  across  his  nose.  Algy  had  had  broken 
nights  for  a  fortnight,  and  the  last  three  days 
and  nights  of  Mary's  life  he  had  almost  no  sleep 
at  all ;  these  two  days  when  she  lay  dead  in  their 
bare  room  he  had  slept  and  wept  and  slept 
again ;  and  now,  when  he  and  Dr.  Lavendar  had 
78 


THE  NOTE 

come  back  from  the  funeral,  he  sat  on  the  edge 
of  the  bed  and  whimpered  with  weakness  and 
grief. 

"  Well,  sir,  she  was  a  good  girl,"  he  said. 
"  I  don't  care  what  anybody  says,  she  was  a 
good  girl.  I  ain't  saying  that  things  was  just 
right,  to  begin  with.  But  that  wasn't  Mary's 
fault.  No ;  she  was  a  good  girl.  And  her  folks 
treated  her  bad.  They'd  always  treated  her 
mean  bad.  My  goodness!  if  they'd  'a'  let  me 
come  to  see  her  respectable,  as  you  would  any 
of  your  lady  friends,  'stead  of  skulkin'  'round — 
...  7  can't  stand  the  smell  of  those  flowers," 
he  broke  out,  in  a  high,  crying  voice ;  "  I  left 
them  all  out  there  at  the  cemetery,  and  I  smell 
them  here — I  smell  them  here,"  he  moaned,  trem 
bling. 

"  I  like  to  smell  them,"  Dr.  Lavendar  said. 
"  They  mean  the  old  friendship  for  Mary.  Mrs. 
King  sent  them.  She's  our  doctor's  wife  in  Old 
Chester.  She  always  liked  Mary." 

"  I  don't  see  how  she  could  help  it,"  Algy 
said,  his  face  crumpling  with  tears.  "  Well,  she 
was  a  good  girl.  And  she  was  a  good  wife,  sir, 
too.  I  tell  you,  you  never  saw  a  better  wife.  I 
used  to  come  home  tired,  and  there'd  be  my  slip 
pers  out  for  me.  Yes,  sir;  she  never  missed  it. 
79 


DR.   LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

And  she  was  always  pleasant,  too;  you  mayn't 
call  just  being  pleasant,  religion,  but  I — " 

"  I  do,"  Dr.  Lavendar  interposed. 

"  Well,  so  do  I,"  Algy  said,  his  face  lighten 
ing  a  little.  "  I  call  it  a  better  religion  than  her 
folks  showed.  Well,  now,  sir,  I  loved  Mary  " — 
he  stopped  and  cried,  openly — "I  loved  her  (I 
didn't  need  that  hell-hound  of  a  brother  to  come 
after  me) — yes,  I  was  just  as  fond  of  her;  and 
yet  there  was  times  when  I  come  home  at  night — 
not  —  not  quite  —  well,  maybe  a  little  —  you 
know?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar. 

"  But,  my  God,  sir,  Mary  was  pleasant.  It 
isn't  every  woman  that  would  be  pleasant  then, 
is  it?" 

"  No,  it  isn't,  Algy." 

"  Course,  next  day  she'd  tell  me  I  done  wrong. 
(She  never  told  me  so  at  the  time — Mary  had 
sense.)  And  I  always  said:  'Well,  yes,  Mary, 
that's  so.  And  I'll  never  do  it  again.'  But  she 
was  pleasant.  Course  I  don't  mean  she  was 
lively.  She  used  to  remember — well,  that  we'd 
made  a  mistake.  You  know?  And  she  used  to 
kind  a  brood  on  it.  She  talked  to  you  consider 
ably  about  it,  I  guess.  She  said  you  comforted 
her.  She  said  you  said  that  maybe  her — her  mis- 
80 


THE   NOTE 

take  had  brought  her  to  be  kind  o'  more  religious 
— saved  her,  as  you  might  say." 

"  I  said  that  she  had  come  to  know  her 
Saviour  through  His  forgiveness." 

"  I  don't  think  Mary  needed  any  forgiveness," 
the  poor  husband  said,  with  tearful  resentment ; 
"  I  think  her  folks  needed  it." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  them,"  Dr.  Lavendar  said. 
"  They  have  got  to  remember  that  they  might 
have  been  kinder.  That's  a  hard  thing  to  have 
to  remember." 

The  young  man  nodded.  "  I  hope  they'll 
remember  it,  hard !" 

"  They  will,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar,  sighing. 

"  I  spent  my  last  cent  on  Mary,"  Algernon 
rambled  on.  "I  got  her  a  good  coffin — a  stylish 
coffin.  The  plate  was  solid  silver.  The  man 
wanted  me  to  take  a  plated  one.  I  says  c  no,' 
I  says ;  '  I  don't  get  plated  things  for  my  wife 
if  it  takes  my  last  cent.'  Well,  it  just  about 
took  it.  But  I  don't  care.  Her  people  threw 
her  off,  and  I  did  for  her.  I  spent  my  last 
cent." 

"  You  took  her  from  them  in  the  first  place, 
Algernon,"  the  old  minister  said.  "  Don't  for 
get  that  you  sinned." 

"  Well,  you  said  she  was  forgiven,"  the  other 
6  81 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

broke  out,  angrily.  "  I  guess  God's  more  easy 
than  some  people." 

"  He  is." 

"  Well,  then,"  Algy  said,  resentfully ;  "  what's 
the  use  of  talking?" 

Dr.  Lavendar  was  silent. 

"  I  don't  begrudge  a  cent  I  spent  on  her," 
Algy  went  on.  "  I  had  laid  by  $1140  to  set  up 
a  place  of  my  own  here  in  Mercer.  At  least,  it 
wasn't  me ;  I'm  not  one  to  save  much ;  it  was 
Mary  did  it.  But  these  last  eight  months  have 
taken  it  all,  'cause  I  'ain't  done  hardly  any  work ; 
couldn't  be  away  from  her  on  the  road,  you 
know ;  so  we  had  to  live  on  that  money.  I  could 
'a'  got  a  cheaper  coffin ;  but  I  wouldn't.  As  for 
the  doctor,  I  got  the  best  in  town.  I  don't  be 
lieve  in  economizing  on  your  wife.  And  I  paid 
him.  I  paid  him  $204  yesterday  morning, 
though  it  seems  high,  considering  he  didn't  cure 
her.  But  I  wasn't  going  to  let  Mary  get  buried 
owing  the  doctor.  And  I  paid  for  the  coffin. 
'  Spot  cash,'  I  says  to  the  man,  *  make  it  spot 
cash,  and  name  your  figure.'  He  took  off  $17. 
Well,  how  much  do  you  suppose  I've  got  left 
now,  Dr.  Lavendar,  out  of  $1140?  Just  $23, 
sir.  I  don't  care ;  I  don't  begrudge  Mary  a  cent. 
I  thought  the  coffin  looked  handsome,  didn't  you? 
82 


THE  NOTE 

• — Oli,  I  wish  somebody  had  'a9  moved  those 
chairs  when  we  were  gone!"  he  cried,  his  voice 
shrill  and  breaking. 

Dr.  Lavendar  got  up  and  pushed  one  of  the 
chairs  back  against  the  wall  and  brought  the 
other  to  Algy's  side.  The  young  man  laid  his 
hand  on  it  and  began  to  cry. 


IV 


"  No,  I  suppose  you  don't  care  to  hear  about  it, 
John.  But  I  want  to  tell  you ;  so  I  guess  you'll 
listen  to  please  me?" 

John  Gordon  said  nothing. 

"  It  isn't  a  long  story,"  Dr.  Lavendar  said, 
and  told  him  briefly  of  the  funeral.  When  he 
ended  there  was  silence.  Then,  "  John,"  Dr. 
Lavendar  said. 

"  Yes,  Edward." 

"  The  man  is  in  need." 

"  What's  that  to  me?"  the  other  burst  out. 

"Much,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar;  "it  gives  you 


chance." 


"  You  mean  a  chance  to  give  him  some 
money  ?"  said  the  other.  "  Good  God !  To  pay 
the  scoundrel  for  what  he  did  to  us?  Edward, 
you  don't  understand  human  nature." 

"  He  spent  his  last  cent  making  Mary  com 
fortable,  John.  She  told  me  so  herself." 

"  I  will  never  give  that — creature  one  penny 
of  my  clean  money." 

84 


THE   NOTE 

Dr.  Lavendar  said  nothing. 

The  older  man  bent  forward,  shivering,  and 
stirred  the  fire.  The  coal  broke  into  sputtering 
fragments  and  the  flames  roared  up  into  the  soot. 
"  Alex  would  never  listen  to  giving  him  any 
money." 

"  Don't  ask  him  to  listen  to  it.  Haven't  you 
got  your  own  check-book?" 

"  Let  him  rot.     That's  what  Alex  says." 

"  I  don't  believe  it's  what  you  say,  John,  be 
cause  he  was  good  to  Mary ; — and  you  were  not." 

Mr.  Gordon  groaned. 

"  Well,  I  won't  give  him  anything ;  I'll  lend  it, 
possibly." 

Dr.  Lavendar  frowned  and  got  up. 

Mr.  Gordon  put  out  a  trembling,  detaining 
hand. 

"  Edward,  you  don't  understand.  .  .  .  How 
much  do  you  want  for  him?" 

"  He  had  saved  about  $1200  to  go  into  some 
business.  It's  all  gone." 

"  Well,  I  won't  give  it  to  him,"  the  other  re 
peated,  with  feeble  sharpness ;  "  I'll  lend  it — to 
please  you." 

"  I'm  sorry  you  haven't  a  better  motive." 

John  Gordon  got  up  and  went  over  to  his 
library-table  and  fumbled  about  in  one  of  the 
85 


DR.    LAVENDAH'S    PEOPLE 

drawers  for  his  check -book.  "  I'm  a  fool,"  he 
said,  fretfully ;  "  I  don't  know  but  what  I'm 
worse.  Lending  money  to —  But  you  say  he 
was  good  to  her  ?  Poor  Mary  !  Oh !"  he  ended, 
half  to  himself,  "  I  don't  know  why  Alex  is  so 
hard."  Then  he  took  his  quill  and  began  to 
scrawl  his  check.  "  I'd  rather  see  him  starve," 
he  said. 

"  No,  you  wouldn't,"  Dr.  Lavendar  said, 
calmly. 

"  Well,  there  !     Take  it !    Get  a  receipt." 

"  Johnny,  think  better  of  it." 

"  You  needn't  take  it  if  you  don't  want  to," 
the  other  said,  sullenly. 

Dr.  Lavendar  took  it,  and  John  Gordon  called 
after  him, 

"You  won't  tell  Alex?" 

Dr.  Lavendar  shook  his  head  and  sighed.  As 
he  drove  home  he  said  to  himself  that  a  loan  was 
better  than  nothing.  "  But,  Danny,  my  boy,"  he 
added,  "  what  a  chance  he  had !  Well,  he'll  take 
it  yet — he'll  take  it  yet.  The  trouble  with  me, 
Daniel,  is,  I'm  in  too  much  of  a  hurry  to  make 
folks  good.  I  must  reform." 

Danny  blinked  a  grave  agreement,  and  Dr. 
Lavendar,  dropping  his  shortcomings  joyfully 
from  his  mind,  began  to  sing  to  himself: 
86 


THE   NOTE 

"  Oh  !  what  has  caused  this  great  commotion— motion- 
motion 
Our  country  through  ?" 

When,  however,  a  day  or  two  later,  Dr.  Laven- 
dar  went  up  to  Mercer  to  take  the  check  to  Alger 
non  Keen,  he  found  to  his  astonishment  that  it 
was  not  so  easy  to  secure  to  his  old  friend  even 
the  smaller  and  meaner  opportunity  of  lending, 
much  less  giving. 

At  first,  Algernon  looked  at  him  open-mouth 
ed.  "  Him — offering  to  lend  money  to — ?" 
His  astonishment  robbed  him  of  words.  Then  into 
his  poor,  shallow  face  came  the  first  keen  touch 
of  shame.  But  instantly  he  was  ashamed  of  his 
shame, — ashamed,  like  so  many  of  us  strange 
human  creatures,  of  the  stirring  of  God  within 
him.  He  didn't  want  their  dirty  money,  he  said. 
They  thought  themselves  so  good,  they  couldn't 
stomach  Mary.  Well,  then,  they  were  too  good 
for  him  to  touch  their  money.  His  voice  shook 
with  angry  grief.  His  bitterness  was  genuine, 
even  though  he  used  it  to  hide  that  first  regenera 
tive  pang  of  shame.  No;  Dr.  Lavendar  could 
take  their  money  back  to  them.  "  I  spent  my 
last  cent,  just  about,  on  Mary,"  he  said;  "  and 
I  didn't  begrudge  it,  either." 

"  I'm  sure  you  didn't  begrudge  it." 
?  87 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

Algy's  weak  mouth  shook  and  his  eyes  filled; 
he  turned  away  and  stared  out  of  the  window. 
"  He  better  have  offered  to  lend  her  some  money 
than  me,"  he  said.  "  I  bet  he's  glad  she's  dead." 

(Dr.  Lavendar  thought  of  Alex.)  "  He  wants 
to  help  you  now  for  her  sake,"  he  said. 

"  I  don't  want  his  money,"  the  younger  man 
insisted,  brokenly ;  "  he  let  her  die." 

"  I  think  that  it  would  please  her  to  have  you 
take  it." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  under  obligations  to  those 
people,"  Algernon  said,  doggedly. 

"  If  Mr.  Gordon  has  your  note,  it's  business." 

Algy  hesitated.  "  I  suppose  he  thinks  I'd 
never  pay  it  back?" 

"  If  he  takes  your  note,  it  looks  as  if  he  ex 
pected  to  be  repaid." 

"  It's  treating  me  white,  I'll  say  that,"  Alger 
non  said.  And  again  his  face  reddened  slowly 
to  his  forehead  and  he  would  not  meet  Dr.  Laven- 
dar's  eye.  "  But  I  don't  want  their  favors,"  he 
cried,  threateningly. 

"  It's  business,  if  you  give  your  note,"  Dr. 
Lavendar  repeated.  "  Come,  Algernon,  let  her 
father  do  something  for  her  sake.  And  as  for 
you — it's  a  chance  to  play  the  man;  don't  you 
see  that?" 

88 


THE   NOTE 

Algy  caught  his  breath.  "  Damn ! — if  I  bor 
rowed  his  money  I'd  pay  it — I'd  pay  it,  if  it 
took  the  blood  out  of  me." 

"  I  will  make  your  feeling  clear  to  him,"  Dr. 
Lavendar  said.  "  Let's  make  out  the  note  now, 

Algy." 

The  old  man  got  up  and  hunted  about  for  pen 
and  paper.  "  Here's  a  prescription  blank,"  he 
said ;  "  that  will  do."  An  ink-bottle  stood  on  the 
narrow  mantel-shelf,  a  rusty  pen  corroding  in 
its  thickening  depths;  but  Dr.  Lavendar,  in  a 
very  small,  shaky  old  hand,  managed  to  scrawl 
that  "  Algernon  Keen,  for  value  received,  prom 
ised  to  pay  to  John  Gordon— 

— "  in  a  year,"  Algy  broke  in ;  "  I  ain't  going 
to  have  it  run  but  a  year — and  put  in  the  inter 
est,  sir.  I'll  have  no  favors  from  'em.  I'll  pay 
interest;  I'll  pay  six  per  cent. — like  anybody 
else  would." 

— "  and  interest  on  same,"  Dr.  Lavendar  add 
ed.  "  Now,  you  sign  here,  Algy.  There !  that 
will  please  Mary." 

"  Oh,  my !"  said  Algernon,  his  poor,  red-rim 
med  eyes  filling — "  oh,  my !  my !  what  will  I  do 
without  her?" 


THE  next  day  Dr.  Lavendar  carried  the  note 
back  to  old  John  Gordon,  who  took  it,  his  mouth 
tightening,  and  glanced  at  it  in  silence.  Then 
he  shuffled  over  to  a  safe  in  the  corner  of  his 
library  and  pulled  out  a  japanned  tin  box.  Dr. 
Lavendar  watched  him  fumble  with  the  combina 
tion  lock,  holding  the  box  up  to  catch  the  light, 
and  shaking  it  a  little  until  the  lid  clicked  open. 
"  He'll  never  pay  it,"  John  Gordon  said. 

"  He'll  try  to,"  Dr.  Lavendar  said;  "  but  it's 
doubtful,  of  course.  He's  a  sickly  fellow,  and 
he  hasn't  much  gumption.  But  if  there's  any 
good  in  him,  your  trusting  him  will  bring  it 
out." 

"  There  isn't  any  good  in  him,"  the  other  said, 
violently. 

And  that  was  the  last  they  said  about  it ;  for 
the  time  Algernon  Keen  dropped  out  of  their 
lives. 

He  set  up  his  little  store  in  Mercer,  and  strug 
gled  along,  advertising  his  samples  of  perfumery 
90 


THE   NOTE 

and  pomade   upon  his   own  person;   trying  to 
drink  a  little  less,  for  Mary's  sake ;  whimpering 
with  loneliness  and  sick-headache  in  his  grimy 
room  in  the  hotel  where  Mary  had  died;  and 
never  forgetting  for  a  day  that  promise  to  pay 
on  the  back  of  the  prescription  paper  in  John 
Gordon's  possession.     But  when  the  year  came 
round,  on  the  2d  of  December,  he  had  not  a  cent 
in  hand  to  meet  his  obligation.     And  that  was 
why  Dr.  Lavendar  heard  of  him  again.     Would 
the  doctor — this  on  perfumed  paper,  ruled,  and 
with   gilt   edges — would   the   doctor   "  ask    him 
if  he  would  extend?"     Algernon  could  pay  the 
interest  now ;  but  that  was  all  he  could  do.     He 
wasn't  in  very  good  shape,  he  said.     He'd  been 
in  the  hospital  for  a  month,  and  had  had  to  hire 
a  salesman.     "  I  guess  he  cheated  me ;  he  was  a 
kind  of  fancy  talker,  and  got  me  to  let  him  buy 
some  stock;  he  got  off  his  slice,  I  bet."     That 
was  the  reason,  Algy   said,  that  he   could  not 
make  any  payment  on  the  principal.     But  he 
was  going  to  introduce  a  new  article  for  the  lips 
(no  harmful  drugs  in  it),  called  Rosebloom— 
first-class  thing;  and  he  expected  he'd  do  first 
rate  with  it.     And  in  another  year  he'd  surely 
pay  that  note.     It  hung  over  him,  he  said,  like 
a  ton.     "I    guess  he  don't  want  it  paid   any 
91 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

more  than  I  want  to  pay  it,"  Algy  ended,  sim 
ply. 

Of  course  Dr.  Lavendar  asked  for  an  exten 
sion,  and  got  it,  though  John  Gordon's  lip 
curled.  "  I  never  expected  to  hear  from  him  or 
his  note  again,"  he  said.  "  Probably  his  honesty 
won't  last  over  another  year." 

Dr.  Lavendar  went  up  to  Mercer  to  see  Algy, 
and  they  talked  things  over  in  the  store  between 
the  calls  of  two  customers.  Algy's  hair  was  sleek 
and  curly  as  before,  for  business  is  business ;  but 
he  looked  draggled  and  forlorn;  his  color  had 
gone  and  he  was  thinner,  and  there  were  lines  on 
his  forehead,  and  his  bright,  hazel  eyes,  kind  and 
shallow  as  those  of  some  friendly  animal,  had 
come  into  their  human  birthright  of  worry. 
"  It's  this  note  that  takes  the  spunk  out  of  me," 
he  said.  "  If  I  could  only  get  it  paid !  Then 
I'd  hire  a  house  and  have  the  vshop  in  front. 
I've  thought  some  I'd  get  married,  too.  It's 
hard  on  your  digestion  living  in  one  of  these 
here  cheap  hotels.  But  I  can't  get  over  thinking 
of  Mary.  I  don't  seem  to  relish  other  ladies.  I 
suppose  they're  all  right;  but  Mary  was  so 
pleasant."  And  his  eyes  reddened.  "  And,  any 
way,  it  would  cost  more  to  keep  a  wife,  and  I 
don't  propose  to  spend  money  that  way.  He's 


THE   NOTE 

treated  me  white,  I'll  say  that  for  him;  and  I 
propose  to  show  him—  Dr.  Lavcndar,  I  haven't 
drunk  too  much  only  three  times  in  the  last  year 
— honest,  I  haven't.  I  thought  you'd  think  that 
would  please  Mary?" 

"  I'm  sure  it  does,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar. 

"  I  suppose  you  think,"  the  drummer  said, 
sheepishly,  "  that  it  was  pretty  darned  foolish  to 
drop  three  times?" 

"  I  think  pretty  soon  it  won't  be  even  three 
times,"  Dr.  Lavcndar  declared ;  "  but  it's  hard 
work  ;  I  know  it  is." 

Algernon  looked  at  him  eagerly.  "  You  know 
how  it  is  yourself,  maybe?" 

"  Well,  I  never  happened  to  want  to  take  too 
much,"  Dr.  Lavendar  said,  gently ;  "  if  I  had, 
it  would  have  been  hard,  I'm  sure." 

"  Well,  you  bet,"  Algy  told  him,  knowingly. 
Then  they  talked  the  business  over,  and  Dr. 
Lavendar  clapped  Algy  on  the  shoulder  and  said 
he  believed  he'd  have  that  house  and  shop  yet. 
"  Rosebloom  may  be  a  gold-mine,"  said  Dr. 
Lavendar.  Then  he  gave  Algy  some  advice 
about  the  window  display,  and  suggested  a  little 
gas-jet  on  the  counter  where  gentlemen  might 
light  their  cigars ;  and  he  told  Algy  what  brand 
he  smoked  himself,  and  recommended  it,  in  spite 
93 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

of  its  price.  Algy  smacked  his  thigh  at  that, 
and  said  Dr.  Lavendar  had  the  making  of  a 
smart  business  man  in  him.  Indeed,  Algy  felt 
so  cheered  that  he  opened  his  show-case  and  dis 
played  a  box  of  his  new  cosmetic. 

"  Look  here,  doctor,"  he  said,  earnestly ;  "  I'll 
give  you  a  box.  Yes — yes!  I  will.  I'd  just  as 
lief  as  not.  You  maybe  wouldn't  want  to  use  it 
yourself;  gentlemen  don't,  often.  But  give  it 
to  one  of  your  lady  friends.  Do,  now,  doctor. 
It  don't  cost  me  much  of  anything — and  I'm 
sure  you've  been  kind  to  me." 

And  Dr.  Lavendar  accepted  the  lip-salve,  and 
thanked  Algy  warmly;  then  he  said  that  the 
picture  on  the  lid  of  the  tight-waisted  lady  was 
very  striking. 

"  That's  so !"  cried  Algy.  "  She's  a  beauty. 
She  makes  me  think  of  Mary." 

Algernon  had  presented  Dr.  Lavendar  with  a 
cigar,  and  the  old  minister  was  smoking  it  in 
great  comfort,  his  feet  on  the  base  of  a  rusty, 
melon-shaped  iron  stove ;  Algy  was  leaning  back 
against  the  counter,  his  elbows  on  the  show-case 
behind  him.  "  Dr.  Lavendar,"  he  said,  looking 
at  the  toe  of  his  boot,  "  I — got  something  on 
my  mind." 

"  Well,  off  with  it,  quick  as  you  can." 
94 


THE   NOTE 

"  I've  been  thinking  about  the  Day  of  Judg 
ment." 

"  Ho !"  said  Dr.  Lavendar. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  get  to  thinking :  if  everybody's 
sins  are  to  be  read  out  loud  before  all  the  world 
— standing  up,  rows  and  rows  and  rows  of  'em. 
Can't  see  the  end  of  'em — so  many.  I  kind  a' 
hate  to  think  that  Mary  might  hear — things 
about  me." 

"  Well,  Keen,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar,  slowly,  "  I 
don't  believe  it  will  be  that  way."  He  hesitated 
a  little.  After  all,  it  is  a  risk  to  take  away  even 
a  false  belief,  unless  you  can  put  a  true  one  in 
its  place. 

Algy  stopped  looking  at  the  toe  of  his  boot. 
"  What!"  said  he. 

"  Now  just  look  at  it,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar. 
"  Who  would  be  the  better  for  that  kind  of  pub 
licity  ?  Good  people  wouldn't  like  it ;  it  would 
pain  them.  You  say  yourself  that  Mary 
wouldn't  like  to  hear  that  you  did  wrong  three 
times." 

"  No ;  she  wouldn't,"  Algernon  said. 

"  Wicked  people  might  enjoy  it,"  Dr.  Laven 
dar  ruminated,  "  but — 

— "  but  God  don't  cater  to  the  wicked?"  Algy 
finished,  quickly. 

95 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

"  That's  just  it,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar.  «  He 
doesn't.  But  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Algy,  it  is 
painful  enough  to  just  have  your  Saviour  tell 
you  your  sins  when  you're  sitting  all  alone — or, 
maybe,  lying  awake  in  the  dark ;  that's  a  dread 
ful  time  to  hear  them.  It's  worse  than  having 
rows  of  people  listening." 

Algernon  nodded.  "  Maybe  you're  right,"  he 
said,  sighing. 

The  birth  of  a  soul  is  a  painful  process.  But 
when  he  went  away  Dr.  Lavendar's  eyes  were 
full  of  hope. 

And  he  grew  more  hopeful  when,  as  the  next 
year  came  round  and  Algernon  again  asked  for 
extension,  he  was  able  to  carry  back,  not  only 
the  note  and  the  interest  to  John  Gordon,  but 
a  payment  of  $24.  What  that  $24  meant  of 
self-denial  and  perseverance  Dr.  Lavendar  knew 
almost  as  well  as  Algy  himself. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  meant  it,  .John," 
he  said,  as  the  old  man  took  the  note  and  locked 
it  up  in  the  japanned  box — "  I  don't  know  that 
it  was  your  intention,  but  I  believe  the  responsi 
bility  of  debt  is  going  to  make  a  man  of  Mary's 
husband." 

"  Debt  doesn't  generally  work  that  waj,"  Mr. 
Gordon  said. 

96 


THE   NOTE 

"  No ;  it  doesn't.  But  He  maketh  the  wrath 
of  man  to  praise  Him,  once  in  a  while,  Johnny." 

"  It's  nothing  to  me.     I'm  done  with  him." 

"  '  If  the  court  knows  itself,  which  it  think  it 
do,'  "  said  Dr.  Lavendar,  chuckling,  "  you're 
just  beginning  with  him." 

"  I'd  rather  have  him  decent,  if  that's  what 
you  mean.  But  I  despise  him." 

"  I  don't,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar.     "  I  tell  you, 
John,  we're  poor,  limited  critters,  you  and  I. 
We  felt  that  no  good  could  possibly  come  out  of 
Nazareth.     I  must  confess  that  when  I  got  you 
to  send  him  that  money  I  was  thinking  more  of 
the  benefit  to  you  than  any  effect  it  might  have 
on  him.      I  thought  he  didn't   amount  to  two 
cents.     To  my  shame  I  say  it.     But  I  was  blind 
as  a  bat ;  the  Lord  had  sent  him  a  great  experi 
ence — Mary's  death.    Well,  it  was  like  a  clap  of 
thunder  on  a  dark  night ;  the  lightning  showed 
up  a  whole  landscape  I  didn't  know.     There  was 
honesty ;  and  there  was  perseverance ;  and  there 
was  love,  mind  you,  most  of  all.     Love!     I  tell 
you,  Johnny,  only  the  Lord  knows  what  is  lying 
in  the   darkness   of  human   nature.      In   fact," 
said  Dr.  Lavendar,  reflectively,  "  as  I  get  older 
there  is  nothing  more  constantly  astonishing  to 
me  than  the  goodness  of  the  Bad ; — unless  it  is 
7  97 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

ihe  badness   of  the   Good.      But   that's   not   so 
pleasant.     No,  sir;  I  don't  despise  Mr.  Keen." 

Nor  did  he  despise  Algy  when  the  note  had  to 
be  extended  still  again,  although  again  Algy 
was  ready  not  only  with  the  interest,  but  with 
$37.50  of  the  principal. 


VI 


As  Algernon  struggled  along  with  Rosebloom 
and  cheap  cigars  and  bright  red  and  green  per 
fumed  soaps,  the  debt  was  lessened  and  lessened ; 
and  the  back  of  the  note  was  almost  covered  with 
extensions,  yet  only  $317  had  been  paid  off.  In 
spite  of  himself  John  Gordon  grew  interested; 
he  would  not  have  admitted  it  for  the  world,  but 
he  wanted  to  hear  about  Dr.  Lavendar's  annual 
visits  to  Mercer ;  and  Dr.  Lavendar  used  to  drive 
out  to  smoke  a  pipe  with  him  and  tell  him  what 
Algy  had  said  and  done.  One  day — it  was  seven 
years  after  the  note  had  been  drawn — a  clear, 
heartless  winter  day,  with  a  cold,  high  wind  that 
made  the  old  minister  look  so  blue  that  John 
Gordon  mixed  a  glass  of  whiskey-and-water  and 
made  him  drink  it  before  they  began  to  talk- 
that  day  Mr.  Gordon  went  so  far  as  to  ask  a 
question  about  Algy.  "  Has  he  given  you  any 
thing  more  for  your  complexion,  Edward?"  he 
said,  with  a  faint  grin. 

"  He  gave  me  a  smelling-bottle  this  time.     I 


DR.    LAVEXDAR'S    PEOPLE 

handed  it  over  to  Mary,  and  told  her  not  to  let 
me  get  a  sniff  of  it :  and  she  said,  '  Sakes !  it's 
beautiful!'  But  I'll  tell  you  something  he  said, 
Johnny :  he  said  that  his  debt  to  you  was  a  mill 
stone  round  his  neck.  And  yet  the  truth  is,  it's  a 
life-buoy  I" 

John  Gordon  looked  at  the  soiled,  crumpled 
paper,  with  its  dates  of  extensions,  and  smiled 
grimly.  4i  Well,  I  won't  deprive  him  of  his  life 
buoy." 

]i  The  store  is  doing  pretty  well."  Dr.  Laven- 
dar  went  on — and  stopped,  because  Alex  entered. 
;i  Whose  store  is  doing  pretty  well,"  he  asked, 
civilly  enough — for  Alex. 

"  Algernon  Keen's,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar. 
Alex's  face  changed;  he  looked  from  one  to 
the  other  of  the  old  men  by  the  fire,  and  he  saw 
his  father's  hand  open  and  close  nervously.  But 
he  restrained  himself  until  their  visitor  had  gone. 
He  even  went  out  into  the  sharp,  bright  wind 
and  unhitched  Dr.  Lavendar's  little  blind  horse 
Goliath,  backing  the  buggy  close  to  the  steps 
and  helping  the  old  man  in  with  what  politeness 
he  could  muster.  Then  he  hurried  back  into  the 
library  to  his  father. 

"  I  should  like  to  know,  sir,"  he  said,  standing 
up  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  his  legs,  in  their  big, 
100 


THE   NOTE 

mud-stained  top-boots,  wide  apart,  his  hands 
under  his  coat-tails—"  I  should  like  to  know, 
sir,  why  Dr.  Lavendar  sees  fit  to  refer  t 
ject  which  is  most  offensive  to  us ?"  He  fixed  his 
motionless,  pale  eves  on  his  father,  shrinking 
back  in  the  winged  chair. 

"  I  don't  know — I  don't  know/*  said  John 
Gordon.  Then,  suddenly,  he  put  out  his  hand 
and  caught  at  the  crumpled  note  on  the  table 
beside  him  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  Instantly 
suspicion  flamed  into  Alex's  eyes.  His  face 
turned  dully  red.  almost  purple.  He  made  a 
step  forward  as  though  to  interpose  and  grasp 
at  the  paper,  restrained  himself,  and  said,  with 
laborious  politeness: 

••  If  that  is  a  note,  sir — I  thought  I  saw 
dorsements  of  interest — sha'n't  I  put  it  into  the 
safe  for  you  *" 

"  I  won't  trouble  you,  Alex." 

Alex  stood  silent :  then  suddenly  he  struck  the 
table  with  his  fist :  M  My  God !     I  believe  you've 
been  lending  money  to  that — to  t  hat- 
Mr.  Gordon  began  to  shake  very  much. 

"  Did  Dr.  Lavendar  presume  to  a<k  you  to 
lend  money  t'o — to — 

Mr.   Gordon   pissed  his  hand   over  his  lips: 
then  he  said,  faintly,  "  No :  he  didn't."' 
101 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S   PEOPLE 

Alex,  like  a  boat  brought  suddenly  up  into 
the  wind,  stammered  uncertainly.  "  Oh ;  I — 
I — thought—  And  then  suspicion  broke  out 
again.  "  Has  the  creature  asked  you  for  a 
loan?" 

"  No,"  Mr.  Gordon  said. 

And  Alex  gaped  at  him,  silenced.  Yet  he  was 
certain  that  that  strip  of  paper  had  some  con 
nection  with  Algernon  Keen.  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,"  he  said ;  "  I  thought  for  an  instant 
that  you  were  dickering  with  the  man  who 
seduced  your  daughter.  I  am  sure  I  beg  your 
pardon  for  the  thought,"  he  ended,  with  elab 
orate  and  ironical  courtesy,  for  his  father's 
obvious  agitation  assured  him  that  he  was  right. 
"  I  only  felt  that  if  it  was  his  note,  it  must  be 
kept  carefully — carefully."  He  smiled  in  a 
deadly  way  he  had,  and  opened  and  shut  his 
hand  as  though  he  would  close  it  on  the  hilt  of  a 
knife.  "  But,  of  course,  I  was  mistaken.  You 
would  press  it  if  you  had  his  note — although 
'"  sue  a  beggar.'  And,  besides,  if  we  had  got  as 
far  as  lending  him  money,  we  would  be  asking 
him  to  dinner  next." 
Mr.  Gordon  cringed. 

"  So  I  beg  your  pardon,"  Alex  ended,  sar 
donically. 

102 


THE   NOTE 

"  Very  well — very  well,"  his  father  said ;  and 
got  up  and  began  to  potter  about  among  his 
books,  as  much  as  to  say  that  the  subject  was 
ended. 

"  It  is  a  note,"  Alex  said  to  himself,  and 
smiled.  ...  So  far  the  creature  had  gone  scot- 
free.  In  these  days  of  lawfully  accepted  dis 
honor  revenge  is  not  talked  about.  But  perhaps 
it  would  come  to  his  hand.  Not  the  revenge  of 
the  instincts — not  the  shedding  of  blood,  man 
fashion;  but  the  revenge  of  inflicting  misery. 
Not  much  of  a  revenge,  of  course,  but  the  best 
that  he  could  get.  And  so  he  smiled  to  him 
self.  .  .  . 

He  said  no  more  at  the  time ;  but  months  later 
his  father  realized  that  the  incident  was  not  for 
gotten  when  Alex  said,  suddenly,  sneering :  "  So 
your  son-in-law  is  prospering  in  his  business?  I 
saw  his  establishment  to-day  in  Mercer.  If  he 
owes  }'ou  any  money  he  will  be  able  to  pay  cash. 
I  congratulate  you,  sir." 

Old  Mr.  Gordon  made  no  reply.  He  was  very 
feeble  that  autumn.  Willy  King  told  Alex  that 
another  attack  of  bronchitis  would  be  the  end. 
"  He  can't  stand  it,"  said  Dr.  King.  "  I'd  take 
him  South,  Alex,  if  I  were  you." 

Alex  did  not  like  to  leave  his  mill  in  Upper 
8  103 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

Chester,  but,  as  he  told  Willy,  he  was  a  good 
son,  and  always  did  his  duty  to  his  father.  "  I 
play  dominoes  with  him  every  night,"  he  said ; — 
so  he  would  take  the  old  man  South,  though  to 
go  and  come  would  keep  him  from  business  al 
most  a  week. 

It  was  then  that  John  Gordon  told  Dr.  Laven- 
dar  that  Alex  suspected  him  of  lending  money 
to  Mr.  Keen.  "  And  if  I  die,"  he  said,  "  Alex 
will  squeeze  the  poor  devil — he'll  squeeze  him 
till  he  ruins  him.  I — I  suppose  I'm  a  great  fool, 
but  I  almost  thought  maybe,  sometime,  I'd  de 
stroy  that  note,  Edward?" 

Dr.  Lavcndar  chuckled :  "  I  knew  you'd  come 
to  it,  Johnny ;  but—  "  he  stopped  and  ruminated. 
"  You've  come  to  it ;  so  that's  all  right.  But  do 
you  know — I  don't  believe  he  can  do  without  it 
quite  yet  awhile." 

"  Poor  devil !"  John  Gordon  said  again,  kind 
ly.  "  Well,  I'll  let  him  gnaw  on  it  awhile  longer. 
I  suppose  he'll  want  another  extension?" 

"Probably,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar.  "He  is 
just  holding  his  own  this  year;  he  will  be  able  to 
pay  the  interest,  he  told  me,  but  not  very  much 
more." 

Extension  was  necessary,  as  Dr.  Lavendar  had 
foreseen;   and   when   he   wrote  to   Mr.   Gordon 
104 


THE  NOTE 

about  it  the  old  man  replied  in  obvious  fear  of 
his  son.  The  note  was  in  his  safe,  he  said; 
Edward  knew  where  it  was;  it  was  in  the  ja 
panned  box.  "  But  I  don't  care  to  ask  Alex  to 
get  it,"  he  explained.  "  He  doesn't  know  of  its 
existence;  so  I'll  give  you  power  of  attorney  to 
see  to  it.  You'd  better  just  have  Ezra  Barkley 
put  it  in  shape  for  you,  because  it  will  be  neces 
sary  to  go  up  to  the  house  and  open  the  safe  to 
get  it  and  put  it  back  again.  Alex  is  never  at 
home  until  late  in  the  afternoon,  but  Rachel  is 
there  and  will  let  you  in.  You'll  find  some  very 
good  Monongahcla  in  the  chimney  closet."  Then 
he  added  the  combinations  of  the  locks  on  the 
safe  and  the  japanned  box. 

"  Stick  that  in,  Ezra,  will  you,  about  going  up 
to  the  house?"  Dr.  Lavendar  said. 

And  Ezra  stuck  it  in  solemnly,  and  then  held 
his  pen  between  his  teeth  and  blotted  his  paper. 
"  It  is  estimated,"  he  observed,  through  his  shut 
teeth,  "  that  the  amount  of  ink  used  in  the 
United  States  of  America,  in  signatures  to  wills, 
since  the  year  when  the  independence  of  the 
colonies  was  declared,  would  be  sufficient  in  bulk 
to  float  a — " 

"  Well,  Ezra,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar,  chuckling, 
"  this  paper  seems  rather  liberal.  Suppose  I 
105 


DR.   LAVENDAR'S   PEOPLE 

take  some  cash  out  of  the  safe  to  repair  the  roof 
of  the  vestry?  It  leaks  like  a  sieve." 

"  Your  construction  of  liberality  is  at  fault, 
sir,"  Mr.  Ezra  corrected  him,  gently ;  "  this 
paper  defines  just  exactly  what  you  may  do,  up 
to  the  moment  when  the  principal  reclaims  the 
paper — or  dies." 

"  Well,  I  hope  he  won't  reclaim  it,  or  die, 
either,  till  he  gets  an  affair  we  are  both  interest 
ed  in  patched  up,"  Dr.  Lavendar  said;  then  he 
listened  politely  while  Mr.  Ezra  told  him  how 
many  times  the  word  "  ink  "  occurred  in  Holy 
Writ. 

Dr.  Lavendar  went  away  with  his  power  of 
attorney  in  his  pocket.  And  when  he  sent  it  to 
John  Gordon  to  sign,  he  seemed  to  take  it  for 
granted  that  he  and  Mr.  Gordon  were  equally 
interested  in  the  development  and  well-being  of 
Mary's  husband.  He  said  in  his  letter  such 
things  as,  "  You'll  make  a  man  of  him  yet ;" 
and,  "  Your  patience  has  given  the  best  elements 
in  him  time  to  come  out."  Dr.  Lavendar  had  a 
perfectly  unreasonable  way  of  imputing  good 
motives  to  people;  the  consequence  was  he  was 
not  very  much  astonished  when  they  displayed 
goodness.  He  was  not  astonished  when,  some 
two  months  later,  another  letter  came  from  old 
106 


THE  NOTE 

Mr.  Gordon,  saying  that  on  the  whole  he  thought 
the  note  had  better  not  run  any  longer.  "  I  am 
going  to  forgive  him  his  debt,"  Mary's  father 
wrote,  in  a  feeble  scrawl;  "and  I'll  be  obliged 
to  you  if  you  will  go  up  to  my  house  and  get 
that  note  and  send  it  to  me.  I'm  pretty  shaky 
on  my  pins,  and  I  don't  want  to  run  risks,  so  I 
wish  you'd  tear  the  signature  out  and  burn  it 
before  you  mail  the  note.  I'll  send  it  along  to 
Mr.  Keen.  I  mean  to  write  to  him  and  tell  him 
I  think  he  is  honest,  anyway.  The  fact  is,  I  half 
respect  the  poor  fellow.  It's  been  a  long  winter, 
and  I  can't  say  I'm  much  better.  Willy  King 
doesn't  know  everything.  These  doctors  are  too 
confoundedly  ready  to  send  a  man  away  from 
home.  I  should  have  been  just  as  well  off  in 
Old  Chester.  Be  sure  and  destroy  that  signa 
ture" 

Dr.  Lavendar  read  this  letter  joyfully,  but 
without  surprise.  "  I'm  glad  he  didn't  take  my 
advice  and  let  it  go  on  any  longer,"  he  said  to 
himself;  "I  guess  I'll  risk  the  effect  on  Algy 
now." 

Then   he   wondered   if   there   would   be    any 

danger  of  meeting  Alex  if  he  went  up  to  the 

house  right  after  dinner.     "  I  can't  manage  it 

this  morning,"  he  said  to  himself.    "  I've  got  to 

107 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

go  and  see   Mrs.   Drayton.      Well,   I  wish  the 
Lord  would  see  fit  to  cure  her- — or  something." 

So  he  went  plodding  out  into  a  still,  gray 
February  day,  and  called  on  Mrs.  Drayton,  and 
stopped  at  the  post-office  to  hear  the  news,  and 
then  went  home  to  his  dinner.  "  Ye're  not  going 
out  again  ?"  his  Mary  cried,  in  shrill  remon 
strance,  when  in  the  afternoon  she  saw  him  muffle 
himself  up  for  the  drive  out  into  the  country; 
"  it's  beginning  to  snow !" 

"  I  am,"  said  Dr.  Lavcndar ;  "  and  see  you 
have  a  good  supper  for  me  when  I  get  back." 
He  got  into  his  buggy,  buttoning  the  apron  up 
in  front  of  him,  for  it  was  a  wet  snow.  He  had 
on  a  shabby  old  fur  cap,  which  he  pulled  well 
down  over  his  forehead,  furrowed  by  other 
people's  sins  and  troubles ;  but  his  eyes  peered 
from  under  it  as  bright  and  happy  as  a  squirrel's. 

His  little  blind  horse  pulled  slowly  and  com 
fortably  up  the  hill,  stopping  to  get  his  breath 
on  a  shaky  bridge  over  a  run.  In  the  silence  of 
the  snow  Dr.  Lavendar  did  not  hear  the  stage 
coming  down  the  hill  until  it  was  almost  on  the 
bridge;  then  he  had  to  pull  over  to  let  it  pass. 
As  he  did  so  the  single  passenger  inside  rapped 
on  the  window,  and  then  opened  it  and  thrust  his 
head  out,  calling  to  the  driver  to  stop. 
108 


THE  NOTE 

"  Dr.  Lavendar !  you  have  heard,  I  suppose  ? 
Very  sad.  A  great  shock.  Of  course  I'm  going 
on  at  once  to  bring  the  body  back.  It  is  difficult 
to  get  off  at  this  season,  but  a  son  has  a  sacred 
duty."  Alex's  pale  eyes  were  bulging  from  his 
red,  excited  face. 

"What  news?"  Dr.  Lavendar  said.  "You 
don't  mean — Alex!  John  isn't — your  father 
isn't—" 

"  My  father  is  dead,"  Alex  said,  with  ponder 
ous  solemnity.  "  It  is  a  great  grief,  of  course ; 
but  I  trust  I  shall  be  properly  resigned.  His 
age  rendered  such  an  event  not  altogether  unex 
pected." 

Dr.  Lavendar  could  not  speak;  but  as  the 
stage-driver  began  to  gather  up  his  reins  from 
the  steaming  backs  of  his  horses,  he  said,  bro 
kenly  :  "  Wait — wait.  Tell  me  about  it,  Alex ; 
your  father  and  I  have  been  friends  all  our 
lives."  Alex  told  him  briefly :  He  had  just  had 
a  despatch;  his  father  had  died  that  morning; 
he  had  been  less  well  for  a  fortnight.  "  I  had  a 
letter  from  him  this  morning,"  Alex  said,  "  in 
which  he  referred  to  his  health — 

"  So  had  I— so  had  I." 

"  I  cannot  get  back  with  the  body  for  six  days 
— three  to  go,  three  to  come,"  Alex  said,  "  but  I 
109 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

will  be  obliged  if  you  will  arrange  for  the 
obsequies  next  Thursday." 

"  Yes,  yes.  I  will  make  any  arrangements  for 
you,"  Dr.  Lavendar  said.  He  took  out  his  big 
red  silk  pocket-handkerchief  and  blew  his  nose 
with  a  trembling  flourish.  "  We  were  boys  to 
gether  ;  your  father  was  the  big  boy,  you  know ; 
I  was  the  youngster.  But  we  were  great  friends. 
Alex,  I  am  afraid  my  own  grief  has  made  me 
forgetful  of  yours ;  but  you  have  had  a  loss,  my 
boy — a  great  loss." 

"  Very  much  so — very  much  so,"  Alex  agreed, 
with  a  proper  sigh,  and  pulled  up  the  window 
of  the  stage,  then  lowered  it  abruptly :  "  Oh,  Dr. 
Lavendar,  are  you  going  on  as  far  up  as — as  my 
house?" 

"As  your  house?"  Dr.  Lavendar  repeated. 
"  Oh — oh  yes ;  I  didn't  understand.  Yes,  I  am." 

"  Would  it  inconvenience  you,"  Alex  said,  "  to 
stop  there?  I  am  going  to  ask  Mr.  Ezra  Bark- 
ley  to  come  up  at  once  and  put  seals  on  various 
things.  I  am  the  sole  executor,  as  well  as  the 
heir,  of  course ;  but  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  attend  to 
things  for  a  week ;  and  the  forms  of  law  must  be 
observed.  If  you  could  be  on  hand  when  Bark- 
ley  is  there — not  that  I  do  not  trust  him." 

Dr.  Lavendar  stared  at  him  blankly;  for  an 
110 


THE  NOTE 

intelligent  man,  Alex  was  sometimes  a  great  fool. 
But  he  only  nodded  gravely,  and  said  he  would 
stop  at  the  house  and  wait  for  Mr.  Ezra ;  Alex 
signed  to  the  driver,  and  the  stage  went  rolling 
noiselessly  on  into  the  storm.  When,  at  the  foot 
of  the  hill,  Alex  glanced  back  through  the  little 
oblong  of  bubbly  glass  in  the  leather  curtain  of 
the  coach,  he  saw  Dr.  Lavendar's  buggy  stand 
ing  motionless  where  he  had  passed  it  on  the 
bridge ;  then  the  snow  hid  it. 

Under  the  bridge  the  creek  ran  swiftly  between 
edges  of  ice  that  here  and  there  had  caught  a 
dipping  branch  and  held  it  prisoner,  or  had 
spread  in  agate  curves — snow  white,  clear  black, 
faint  white  again — around  a  stone  in  mid-stream. 
On  the  black  current,  silent  except  for  a  mur 
murous  rush  of  bubbles  under  the  ice,  the  snow- 
flakes  melted  instantly,  myriads  of  them — hurry 
ing,  hurrying,  hurrying;  then,  as  they  touched 
the  water,  gone.  Dr.  Lavendar,  in  the  buggy, 
sat  looking  down  at  them : 

"  In  an  instant — in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye, 
we  shall  be  changed."  .  .  . 

"  He  was  my  oldest  friend."     ("  Was  " :  with 
what  an   awful  promptitude  the  mind  adjusts 
itself  to  "  he  was  "/)     Yet  as  he  sat  there,  peer 
ing  out  over  the  top  of  the  apron  and  making, 
111 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

heavily,  those  plans  familiar  to  every  clergyman, 
Dr.  Lavendar  did  not  really  believe  that  the 
plans  were  for  Johnny.  The  snow  fell  with  noise 
less  steadiness ;  the  top  of  the  buggy  was  white ; 
thimbles  of  down  heaped  themselves  on  the  hubs, 
tumbling  off  when  the  horse  moved  restlessly  a 
step  forward  or  backed  a  little  and  stamped. 
Suddenly  Goliath  shook  himself,  for  the  snow 
was  cold  upon  his  shaggy  back,  and  the  harness 
clattered  and  the  shafts  rattled.  Dr.  Lavendar 
drew  a  long  breath.  "  G'on !"  he  said.  And 
Goliath  went  on  with  evident  relief.  He  knew  the 
road  well,  and  turned  in  at  the  Gordon  gate 
way,  as  a  matter  of  course.  When  he  stopped 
at  the  front  steps,  the  door  opened  and  Rachel 
stood  there,  her  eyes  red. 

"  Sam  will  take  him  round  to  the  stable,  sir," 
she  said,  as  Sam  shambled  out  from  the  back  of 
the  house  to  stand  at  Goliath's  head.  "  Oh,  my ! 
sir ;  I  suppose  you've  heard  ?" 

"  Yes,  Rachel ;  I've  heard,"  the  old  man  said, 
unbuttoning  the  apron  and  climbing  out. 
Rachel  took  his  hand  and  wept  audibly.  "  I 
knew  he'd  never  come  back ;  he  was  marked  for 
death.  I've  lived  here  eighteen  years,  and  I  al 
ways  said  it  was  a  privilege  to  work  for  a  gentle 
man  like  him." 


THE   NOTE 

"  Yes — yes,"  he  said,  kindly.  He  was  plainly 
agitated,  and  Rachel  saw  that  he  was  trembling. 

"  Course  you  feel  it,  sir,  being  about  of  an 
age,"  she  said,  sympathetically.  "  Dr.  Laven- 
dar,  sir,  won't  you  have  a  glass  of  something?" 
With  the  hospitality  of  an  old  servant,  she  would 
have  opened  the  little  closet  in  the  chimney- 
breast,  but  he  checked  her. 

"  Not  yet ;  not  now,  Rachel.  Leave  me  here 
awhile  by  myself,  my  girl.  I'll  come  out  to  the 
kitchen  and  see  you  before  I  go.  When  Mr. 
Barkley  comes,  ask  him  to  step  into  the  library." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  Rachel  said,  obediently ;  and  went 
away  sniffling  and  sighing. 

Dr.  Lavendar  stood  looking  about  him  at  the 
emptiness  of  the  room:  the  winged  chair,  with 
the  purple  silk  handkerchief  hanging  over  the 
back;  the  table  heaped  with  books;  the  fire 
drowsing  in  the  grate ;  the  old  safe  in  the  corner 
by  the  window.  Outside,  the  snow  drove  past, 
blotting  the  landscape.  Ezra  would  probably 
arrive  within  a  half -hour ;  he  had  better  get  the 
note  before  he  came.  Then  there  need  be  no 
explanations. 

When  Mr.  Ezra  came  in  he  found  the  old 
minister  sitting  by  the  fire,  quite  calm  again,  and 
even  cheerful.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  in  answer  to  the 
s  113 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

lawyer's  very  genteel  expressions  of  sympathy — 
"  yes,  I'll  miss  him.  We  were  boys  together. 
He  used  to  call  me  Bantam.  I  hadn't  thought 
of  it  for  years." 

"  Nicknames,"  said  Mr.  Ezra,  "  were  used  by 
the  ancients  as  long  ago  as  300  B.C." 

"  Well,  I'm  not  as  ancient  as  300  B.C.,"  said 
Dr.  Lavendar,  "  but  I  called  him  Storkey ;  I 
can't  imagine  why,  for  he  was  only  an  inch 
and  a  half  taller;  he  always  said  it  was  two 
inches,  but  it  wasn't.  It  was  an  inch  and  a  half." 

"  We  are  here,"  said  Mr.  Ezra,  pulling  off  his 
gloves  and  coughing  politely,  "  for  indeed  a 
solemn  and  an  affecting  task.  It  is  my  duty,  sir, 
to  seal  the  effects  of  the  deceased,  so  that  they 
may  be  delivered,  intact,  to  the  executor." 

Dr.  Lavendar  nodded. 

"  In  all  my  professional  career  I  have  never 
happened  to  be  called  upon  for  this  especial 
duty.  It  is  quite  unusual.  But  Alex  seemed  to 
think  it  necessary.  Alex  is  a  good  son." 

"  So  he  says,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar. 

"  Are  you  aware,  sir,"  proceeded  Mr.  Ezra, 
producing  from  his  bag  the  paraphernalia  of 
his  office,  "  that  such  is  the  incredible  celerity 
of  bees  (belonging  to  the  Hymenoptera)  that 
they  can  within  twenty-four  hours  manufacture 
114 


THE   NOTE 

four  thousand  cells  in  the  comb?  This  interest 
ing  fact  is  suggested  by  the  use  of  wax  for  seal- 
ing." 

Dr.  Lavendar  watched  him  in  a  silence  so  deep 
that  he  hardly  heard  the  harmless  stream  of 
statistics ;  but  at  last  he  was  moved  to  say,  with 
his  kind,  old  smile,  "  How  can  you  know  so 
many  things,  Ezra?" 

"  In  my  profession,"  Mr.  Ezra  explained,  "  it 
is  necessary  to  keep  the  mind  up  to  the  greatest 
agility;  I,  therefore,  exercise  it  frequently  in 
matters  of  memory."  He  lit  a  candle  and  held 
his  wax  sputtering  in  the  flame.  "  I  recall,"  he 
said,  "  with  painful  interest,  that  at  one  of  our 
recent  meetings  I  had  the  honor  of  drawing  the 
power  of  attorney  for  you,  from  the  deceased." 

"  So  you  did,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar. 

"  Did  you  ever  reflect,"  said  Mr.  Barkley, 
"  that  should  that  power  be  used  after  the  death 
of  the  donor,  to  carry  out  a  wish  of  said  donor, 
expressed  an  hour,  nay,  a  moment,  before  the 
instant  of  dissolution — such  act  would  be  an 
offence  in  the  eye  of  the  law  ?" 

"  I've  always  thought  the  law  ought  to  put  on 
spectacles,  Ezra,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar ;  "  it  has 
mighty  poor  eyesight  once  in  a  while." 

Mr.  Barkley  was  shocked.  "  The  law,  Dr. 
115 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

Lavendar,  is  the  deepest  expression  of  the  human 
sense  of  justice!" 

"But,  Ezra,"  Dr.  Lavendar  said,  suddenly 
attentive,  "  that  is  very  interesting.  I  remem 
ber  you  referred  to  the  lapsing  of  the  power  of 
attorney  when  you  made  out  that  paper  for  me ; 
but  I  didn't  quite  understand.  Do  you  mean 
that  carrying  out,  now,  directions  given  before 
the  death  of  my  old  friend  would  be  against  the 
law?  Suppose  he  had  asked  me — last  week,  per 
haps,  to  destroy — well,  say  that  old  account- 
book  there  on  the  table,  couldn't  I  do  it  to 
day?" 

"  Dr.  Lavendar,  you  do  not,  I  fear,  apprehend 
the  majesty  of  the  law!  Why,"  said  Mr.  Ezra, 
standing  up,  very  straight  and  solemn,  "  such  a 
deed—" 

"  But  suppose  I  didn't  want  —  suppose 
Johnny  didn't  want,  for  reasons  of  his  own,  to 
have  anybody — say,  even  his  executor — see  that 
account-book;  suppose  it  might  be  put  to  some 
bad  purpose — used  to  injure  some  third  person 
(of  course  that  is  an  absurd  supposition,  but  it 
will  do  for  an  illustration )  ;  if  he  had  asked  me 
last  week  to  destroy  it,  do  you  mean  to  say, 
Ezra,  I  couldn't  destroy  it  to-day? — just  be 
cause  he  happened  to  die  this  morning !" 
116 


THE   NOTE 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  Mr.  Ezra,  "  such  con 
duct  on  your  part  would  be  perilously  near  a 
criminal  offence." 

Dr.  Lavendar  whistled.  "Well,  Ezra,  I 
won't  destroy  it." 

"  I  hope  not,  sir — I  hope  not,  indeed,"  cried 
Mr.  Ezra. 

Dr.  Lavendar  laughed ;  he  had  the  impulse  to 
turn  round  and  wink  at  Johnny,  to  take  him  into 
the  joke.  But  it  was  only  for  an  instant,  and  his 
face  fell  quickly  into  puzzled  lines. 

"  A  moment's  reflection,"  Mr.  Ezra  continued, 
"  will  convince  you,  Dr.  Lavendar,  that  the 
aforesaid  account-book  is  now  the  property,  not 
of  the  deceased,  but  of  the  estate.  Its  destruc 
tion  would  be  the  destruction  of  property  be 
longing  to  the  heirs.  Furthermore,  your  belief 
that  the  herein  before  mentioned  account-book 
might  be  put  to  an  improper  use,  for  the  injury 
of  a  third  person — such  belief  would  no  more 
justify  you  in  destroying  it  than  would  your  be 
lief  in  its  unfairness  towards  said  third  person 
justify  you  in  destroying  a  will." 

Dr.  Lavendar  thrust  out  his  lower  lip  and 
stared  at  him,  frowning.  "  Yes,"  he  said, 
slowly — "  yes ;  I  see.  I  did  not  quite  under 
stand.  But  I  see." 

117 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

Mr.  Ezra  solemnly  began  to  pour  forth  a 
stream  of  statistics;  he  referred  to  the  case  of 
Buckley  vs.  Grant,  and  even  mentioned  chapter 
and  page  of  Purdon's  Digest  where  Dr.  Laven- 
dar  could  find  further  enlightenment.  Dr. 
Lavendar  may  have  listened,  but  he  made  no  com 
ment  ;  he  sat  staring  silently  at  the  old  purple 
handkerchief  on  the  top  of  John's  chair. 

When  Mr.  Ezra  had  finished  his  work  and  his 
statistics,  the  two  men  shook  hands;  then  Dr. 
Lavendar  said  good-bye  to  Rachel  and  climbed 
into  his  buggy,  buttoning  the  apron  high  up  in 
front  of  him ;  the  lawyer  mounted  his  horse,  and 
they  plodded  off  into  the  snow,  single  file.  But 
Dr.  Lavendar's  eyes,  under  his  old  fur  cap,  had 
lost  their  squirrel-like  brightness.  .  .  . 

So  Algy's  note  belonged  to  the  estate ;  and  the 
estate  belonged  to  Alex ;  and  Alex  was  the  execu 
tor.  And  upon  Alex  Gordon  his  father's  inten 
tions  in  regard  to  Algy's  note  would  make  no 
more  impression  than  the  flakes  of  snow  on  run 
ning  water.  A  vision  of  Alex's  mean  and  cruel 
mouth,  his  hard,  light  eyes,  motionless  as  a 
snake's  in  his  purpling  face,  made  Dr.  Lavendar 
wince.  The  note — the  poor,  shabby,  worn  note, 
— that  stood  for  the  best  there  was  in  Algy,  that 
stood  for  perseverance  and  honesty  and  courage ; 
118 


THE   NOTE 

the  note,  which  had  weighed  so  heavily  that  he 
had  had  to  stand  up  in  his  pitiful  best  manhood 
to  bear  it :  the  note  that  John  had  meant  to  "  for 
give  " — Alex  would  use  to  humiliate  and  torture 
and  destroy.  Under  the  pressure  which  he  would 
bring  to  bear  that  note  would  be  poor  Algy's 
financial,  and  perhaps  his  moral,  ruin.  "  And  if 
I  had  not  objected,  John  would  have  cancelled 
it,"  Dr.  Lavendar  thought,  frowning  and  blink 
ing  under  his  fur  cap.  He  saw  the  smoking  flax 
quenched,  the  bruised  reed  broken ;  he  saw  Algy 
turning  venomously  upon  his  enemy — for  he 
knew  him  well  enough  to  know  that  his  code  of 
defence  would  not  include  any  conventional  deli 
cacy;  he  saw  the  new  and  hardly  won  integrity 
crumbling  under  the  assault  of  Alex's  legal 
wickedness.  Dr.  Lavendar  groaned  to  himself. 
Alex  could,  lawfully,  murder  Algernon  Keen's 
soul. 

When  Mary  saw  the  old  minister  come  into 
the  house  she  was  much  displeased.  "  There, 
now,  look  at  him,"  she  scolded ;  "  white  as  a 
sheet.  What  did  I  tell  you?  I'll  bet  ye  he  won't 
eat  them  corn  dodgers,  and  I  never  made  'em 
finer." 

It  must  be  admitted  that  Mary  was  right. 
*  119 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

Dr.  Lavendar  did  not  eat  much  supper.  He 
went  shuffling  back  to  his  study,  Danny  slinking 
at  his  heels;  but  for  once  he  did  not  notice  his 
little,  grizzled  friend.  When  he  got  into  his 
flowered  cashmere  dressing-gown  and  put  on  his 
slippers  and  stirred  his  fire,  he  sat  a  long  time 
with  his  pipe  in  his  hand,  forgetting  to  light  it. 
When  he  did  light  it,  it  went  out,  unnoticed. 
Once  Danny  tried  to  scramble  into  his  chair,  but, 
receiving  no  encouragement,  curled  up  on  the 
rug.  The  fire  burned  low  and  smouldered  into 
ashes ;  just  one  sullen,  red  coal  blinked  in  a  corner 
of  the  grate ;  Dr.  Lavendar  watched  this  red 
spot  fixedly  for  a  long  time.  Indeed,  it  was  well 
on  towards  twelve  before  he  suddenly  reached 
over  for  the  bellows  and  a  couple  of  sticks,  and, 
bending  down,  stirred  and  blew  until  the  sticks 
caught  and  the  cinders  began  to  sparkle  under 
the  ashes.  This  disturbed  Danny,  who  sat  up, 
displeased  and  yawning.  But  when  at  last  the 
flames  broke  out,  sputtering  and  snapping,  and 
caught  a  piece  of  paper  —  a  shabby,  creased 
piece  of  paper  covered  with  dates — caught  it, 
ran  over  it,  curling  it  into  brittle  blackness,  and 
then  whirled  it,  a  flimsy,  crumbling  ghost,  up  the 
chimney,  Dr.  Lavendar's  face  shone  with  a  light 
that  was  not  only  from  the  fire. 
120 


THE    NOTE 

"  Ha,  Danny,  you  scoundrel,"  he  said,  cheer 
fully,  "  I  guess  you  are  particeps  criminis!" 

Then  he  went  over  to  his  study-table  and  root 
ed  about  for  a  thin,  shabby,  blue  book,  over 
which  he  pored  for  some  time,  stopping  once  or 
twice  to  make  some  calculations  on  the  back  of 
an  envelope,  then  turning  to  the  book  again. 
He  covered  the  envelope  with  his  small,  neat 
figuring,  and  turned  it  over  to  begin  on  the  other 
side — and  started :  "  Johnny's  letter !"  he  said. 
But  when  the  calculations  were  made,  the  rest  was 
easy  enough:  first,  his  check-book  and  his  pen. 
(At  the  check  he  looked  with  some  pride. 
"  Daniel,"  he  said,  "  look  at  that,  sir.  You  never 
saw  so  much  money  in  your  life ;  and  neither  did 
I — over  my  own  signature.")  Next,  a  letter  to 
Alex  Gordon : 


"  MY  DEAR  ALEXANDER, — I  owe  your  father's  estate  to 
the  amount  of  the  enclosed  check.  No  papers  exist  in 
regard  to  it,  as  the  matter  was  between  ourselves.  I  will 
ask  you  for  a  receipt.  Yours  truly, 

"  EDWARD  LAVENDAR." 


THE 
GRASSHOPPER  AND   THE   ANT 


THE 
GRASSHOPPER   AND   THE   ANT 


WHEN  William  Rives  and  Lydia  Sampson  quar 
relled  and  broke  their  engagement,  Old  Chester 
said  that  they  were  lucky  to  fall  out  two  weeks 
before  their  wedding-day  instead  of  two  weeks 
after  it.    Of  course,  Old  Chester  said  many  other 
things:  it  said  it  had  always  known  they  could 
never  get  along.     William,  who  had  very  little 
money,  was  careful  and  thrifty,  as  every  young 
man  ought  to  be ;  Lydia,  who  was  fairly  well  off, 
was  lavish  and  no  housekeeper.     "  What  could 
you  expect?"  demanded  Old  Chester.     Old  Ches 
ter  never  knew  exactly  what  the  trouble  between 
them  had  been,  for  they  kept  their  own  counsel ; 
but  it  had  its  suspicions :  it  had  something  to  do 
with   William's    father's    will.      By    some   legal 
quibble  the  Orphan's  Court  awarded  to  William 
a  piece  of  property  which  everybody  knew  old 
125 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

Mr.  Rives  supposed  he  had  left  to  his  daughter 
Amanda.  Lydia  thought  (at  least  Old  Chester 
thought  she  thought)  that  William  would,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  at  once  turn  the  field  over  to 
his  sister.  But  William  did  no  such  thing. 
And,  after  all,  why  should  he?  The  field  was 
his ;  the  law  allowed  it,  the  Court  awarded  it. 
Why  should  he  present  a  field  to  Amanda?  Old 
Chester  said  this  thoughtfully,  looking  at  Will 
iam  with  a  sort  of  respectful  regret.  Very 
likely  Lydia's  regret  was  not  respectful.  Lydia 
was  always  so  outspoken.  However,  it  was  all 
surmise.  About  the  time  that  Amanda  did  not 
get  the  field  the  engagement  was  broken — and 
you  can  put  two  and  two  together  if  you  like. 
As  for  Old  Chester,  it  said  that  it  pitied  poor, 
dear  Lydia ;  and  it  was  no  wonder  William  left 
town  after  the  rupture,  because,  naturally,  he 
would  be  ashamed  to  show  his  face.  But  then 
it  also  said  it  pitied  poor,  dear  William,  and  it 
should  think  Lydia  would  be  ashamed  to  show 
her  face ;  for,  of  course,  her  obstinacy  made  the 
trouble — and  a  young  female  ought  not  to  be 
obstinate,  ought  not,  in  fact,  to  have  opinions  on 
such  matters.  Legal  affairs,  said  Old  Chester, 
should  be  left  to  the  gentlemen.  In  fact,  Old 
Chester  said  every  possible  thing  for  and  against 
126 


GRASSHOPPER   AND    THE   ANT 

them  both;  but  gradually,  as  years  passed,  con 
flicting  opinions  settled  down  to  the  "  poor 
Lydia  "  belief. 

This  was,  probably,  for  two  reasons :  first,  be 
cause  William  had  never  seen  fit  to  come  back  to 
Old  Chester,  and  that,  quite  apart  from  his  con 
duct  to  his  lady-love,  was  a  reason  for  distrust; 
and,  secondly?  Lydia  had,  somehow,  become  Old 
Chester's  one  really  poor  person — that  is,  in  a 
genteel  walk  of  life.  After  the  crumbling  of  the 
Sampson  fortune,  Old  Chester  had  to  plan  for 
Lydia,  and  take  care  of  her,  and  give  her  its 
"  plain  sewing " ;  so,  naturally,  William  was 
reprobated.  Besides,  she  may  have  quarrelled 
and  broken  her  engagement  two  weeks  before  her 
wedding,  but  all  these  years  afterwards  she  had 
been  faithful  to  the  memory  of  Love!  Old 
Chester  knew  this,  for  the  simple  reason  that 
Miss  Lydia,  during  all  these  years,  had  kept  in 
her  sitting-room  a  picture  of  William  Rives, 
adorned  with  a  sprig  of  box;  furthermore,  it 
knew  (Heaven  knows  how!)  that  she  kissed  this 
slender,  tight-waisted  picture  every  night  before 
she  went  to  bed.  Of  course,  Old  Chester  soften 
ed!  Lydia  may  have  broken  her  engagement 
and  all  that,  but  she  kept  his  picture,  and  she 
kissed  it  every  night.  "  But  he  ought  to  be 
127 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

ashamed  of  himself,"  said  Old  Chester — "that 
is,  if  he  is  alive."  Then  it  added,  reflectively, 
that  he  must  be  dead,  for  he  had  never  returned 
to  Old  Chester.  Yet  as  time  went  on  people  for 
got  even  to  disapprove  of  William;  they  had 
enough  to  do  to  take  care  of  poor  Lydia,  "  for 
she  is  certainly  very  poor — and  very  peculiar," 
said  Old  Chester,  sighing. 

"Peculiar!"  said  Martha  King;  "I  call  it 
something  worse  than  peculiar  to  spend  money 
that  ought  to  go  towards  rent  on  a  present  for 
Rachel  King's  Anna.  She  gave  that  child  a 
picture-book.  I'm  sure  7  can't  afford  to  go 
round  giving  children  picture-books.  I  told  her 
so  flatly  and  frankly.  And  then  it  was  so  try 
ing,  because,  right  on  top  of  my  scolding,  she 
gave  me  a  present — a  cup  all  painted  with  roses, 
and  marked  '  Friendship's  Gift,'  in  gilt.  I 
didn't  want  it;  I  could  have  shaken  her,"  Mrs. 
King  ended,  helplessly. 

It  was  not  only  Martha  whose  patience  was 
tried  by  Miss  Lydia;  the  experience  was  com 
mon  to  all  Old  Chester.  Even  Dr.  Lavendar 
had  felt  the  human  impulse  to  shake  her.  When 
he  had,  very  delicately,  asked  "  as  an  old  friend, 
the  privilege  of  assisting  her,"  it  was  exasperat 
ing  to  have  a  lamp-shade  made  of  six  porcelain 
128 


GRASSHOPPER   AND    THE   ANT 

intaglios  set  in  a  tin  frame  come  to  him  the  next 
day,  with  the  "  respectful  compliments  of  L.  S." 
But  somehow,  when,  beaming  at  him  from  under 
her  shabby  bonnet,  Miss  Lydia  had  asked  him 
if  he  liked  that  preposterous  shade,  he  could  not 
speak  his  mind, — at  least  to  her.  He  spoke  it 
mildly  to  Mrs.  Barkley.  "  We  must  restrain 
her;  she  brought  me  $£  for  Zenanna  Missions 
yesterday." 

"  What  did  you  do?"  Mrs.  Barkley  said,  sym 
pathetically. 

"  I  made  her  take  it  back.  I  pointed  out  that 
her  first  duty  was  to  her  landlord." 

"  Her  landlord  has  some  duties  to  her,"  Mrs. 
Barkley  said,  angrily.  "  The  stairs  are  just 
crumbling  to  pieces,  and  that  chimney  is  dread 
ful.  She  says  that  Davis  said  the  flue  would  have 
to  be  rebuilt,  and  maybe  the  whole  chimney.  He 
couldn't  be  sure  about  that,  but  he  thought  it 
probable.  He  said  it  would  cost  $100  to  put  all 
the  things  in  repair — floor  and  roof  and  every 
thing.  But  he  would  do  it  for  $85,  considering. 
He  thinks  the  flue  has  broken  down  inside  some 
how.  She  might  burn  up  some  night ;  and  then," 
said  Mrs.  Barkley,  in  a  deep  bass,  "  how  would 
that  Smith  person  feel?" 

"  He  says,"  Dr.  Lavendar  explained,  "  that 
9  129 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

by  the  terms  of  the  lease  the  tenant  is  to  make 
repairs." 

Mrs.  Barkley  snorted.  "  And  how  is  poor 
Lydia  to  make  repairs?  She  hasn't  two  cents  to 
bless  herself  with.  I  told  him  so." 

Mrs.  Barkley's  face  grew  very  red  at  the 
recollection  of  her  interview  with  Mr.  Smith 
(he  was  one  of  the  new  Smiths,  of  course).  "  I 
don't  mix  philanthropy  and  business,"  he  had 
said ;  "  the  lease  says  the  tenant  shall  make  re 
pairs.  And,  besides,  I  do  not  wish  to  be  more 
attractive  than  I  am.  With  that  chimney,  some 
other  landlord  may  win  her  affections.  Without 
it,  she  will  never  desert  Mr.  Micawber." 

"  I  am  not  acquainted  with  your  friend  Mr. 
Micawber,"  said  Mrs.  Barkley,  "  neither,  I  am 
sure,  is  Miss  Sampson ;  and  if  you  will  allow  me 
to  say  so,  sir,  we  do  not  in  Old  Chester  consider 
it  delicate  to  refer  to  the  affections  of  an  un 
married  female." 

Upon  which  Mr.  Smith  laughed  immoderately. 
(None  of  the  new  people  had  any  manners.) 

"  So  there  is  no  use  asking  him  to  do  any 
thing,"  Mrs.  Barkley  told  Dr.  Lavendar. 

"The  only  thing  I  can  think  of,"  the   old 
minister  said,  "  is  that  we  all  join  together  and 
give  her  the  price  Davis  named,  as  a  present." 
130 


GRASSHOPPER   AND    THE   ANT 

"  Eighty-five  dollars !"  Mrs.  Barkley  exclaim 
ed,  startled ;  "  that's  a  good  deal  of  money — " 

"  Well,  yes ;  it  is.     But  something  has  got  to 
be  done." 

"  And  to  take  up  a  collection  for  Lydia !    It's 
— charity." 

"  It  isn't  taking  up  a  collection,"  Dr.  Laven- 
clar  protested,  stoutly.     "  And  it  isn't  charity. 
Miss  Lydia's  friends  have  a  right  to  make  her  a 
present  if  they  feel  like  it." 

Mrs.  Barkley  agreed,  doubtfully. 

"  Mrs.  Dale  would  contribute,  I'm  sure,"  said 
Dr.  Lavendar.    "  And  perhaps  the  Miss  Ferises." 

"  I  wouldn't  like  to  ask  them." 

"  Don't  ask  'em.    Offer  them  the  chance." 

"No,"  Mrs.  Barkley  insisted;  "they've  no 
right.  They  are  not  really  her  friends.  Lydia 
doesn't  call  them  by  their  first  names."  But  she 
went  away  very  much  encouraged  and  full  of 
this  project  of  a  present  for  poor  Lydia,  who, 
happily,  had  no  idea  that  she  was  "  poor " 
Lydia.  She  was  not  poor  to  herself  (except,  of 
course,  in  purse,  which  is  a  small  matter).  She 
lived  in  a  shabby  and  dilapidated  cottage  at  the 
Smith  gates,  and  every  month  squeezed  out  a 
few  dollars  rent  to  Mr.  Smith ;  she  was  sorry  for 
the  Smiths,  for  they  were  new  people;  but  she 
131 


DR.    LAVENDAH'S    PEOPLE 

always  spoke  kindly  to  them,  for  she  never  look 
ed  down  on  anybody.  So,  as  far  as  position 
went,  she  was  not  "  poor."  She  had  no  relations 
living,  but  she  called  all  Old  Chester  of  her 
generation  by  its  first  name ;  so,  as  to  friendship, 
there  was  nothing  "  poor "  about  her.  And, 
most  of  all,  she  was  not  "  poor,"  but  very  rich, 
in  her  capacity  for  interest. 

Now,  no  one  wrho  has  an  interest  is  poor;  and 
Miss  Lydia  had  a  hundred  interests.  A  hun 
dred?  She  had  as  many  interests  as  there  were 
people  in  the  world  or  joys  or  sorrows  in  Old 
Chester;  so  she  was  really  very  rich.  ...  Of 
course,  there  are  different  degrees  of  this  sort  of 
wealth:  there  are  folk  who  have  to  manufacture 
their  interests ;  with  deliberation  they  are  philan 
thropic  or  artistic  or  intellectual,  or  even,  if  hard 
put  to  it,  they  are  amused.  Such  persons  may 
be  said  to  be  in  fairly  comfortable  circumstances, 
although  they  live  anxiously  and  rather  meagre 
ly,  because  they  know  well  that  when  interest 
gives  out  they  are  practically  without  the  means 
to  support  life.  Below  this  manufacturing  class 
come  the  really  destitute — the  poor  creatures 
who  do  not  care  vitally  for  anything  and  who 
are  without  the  spiritual  muscle  to  manufacture 
an  interest.  These  pathetic  folk  are  occasionally 


GRASSHOPPER   AND    THE    ANT 

made  self-supporting  by  a  catastrophe — grief 
or  even  merely  some  uncomfortable  surgery  in 
regard  to  their  bank  account  may  give  them  a 
poor  kind  of  interest ;  but  too  often  they  exist 
miserably — sometimes,  with  every  wish  gratified, 
helplessly  poor.  Above  the  manufacturing  class 
comes  the  aristocracy,  to  which  Miss  Lydia 
Sampson  belonged,  the  class  which  is  positively 
rolling  in  wealth.  Every  morning  these  favored 
creatures  arise  with  a  zest  for  living.  You  hear 
them  singing  before  breakfast ;  at  the  table  they 
are  full  of  eager  questions :  Is  it  going  to  rain? 
No;  it  is  a  fair  day;  delightful! — for  it  might 
have  rained.  And  the  sun  will  bring  up  the 
crocuses.  And  this  was  the  day  a  neighbor  was 
to  go  to  town.  Will  she  go?  When  will  she 
come  back?  How  pleasant  that  the  day  is 
pleasant!  And  it  will  be  good  for  the  sick 
people,  too.  And  the  moment  the  eager,  simple 
mind  turns  to  its  fellows,  sick  or  well,  the  field 
of  interest  widens  to  the  sky-line  of  souls.  To 
sorrow  in  the  sorrows  of  Tom  and  Dick  and 
Harry  and  their  wives,  to  rejoice  in  their  joys — 
what  is  better  than  that?  And  then,  all  one's 
own  affairs  are  so  vital:  the  record  of  the  range 
of  the  thermometer,  the  question  of  turning  or 
not  turning  an  alpaca  skirt,  the  working  out  of 
133 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

a  game  of  solitaire — these  things  are  absorbing 
experiences. 

No  wonder  we  who  are  poor,  or  even  we  who 
work  hard  at  philanthropy  or  art  or  responsi 
bility  to  manufacture  our  little  interests — no 
wonder  we  envy  such  sky-blue  natures.  Cer 
tainly  there  were  persons  in  Old  Chester  who 
envied  Miss  Lydia ;  at  least,  they  envied  her  her 
unfailing  joyousncss — but  they  never  envied  her 
her  empty  purse.  Which  was  like  envying  a 
rose  its  color,  but  despising  the  earth  from 
which  by  some  divine  chemistry  the  color  came. 

Miss  Lydia's  eyes  might  smart  from  the  smoke 
puffing  out  into  her  room,  but  she  was  able  to 
laugh  at  the  sight  of  her  bleared  visage  in  the 
narrow  mirror  over  the  mantel.  Nor  did  the  fact 
that  the  mirror  was  mottled  and  misty  with  age, 
the  frame  tarnished  almost  to  blackness,  cause 
her  the  slightest  pang.  What  difference  does 
it  make  in  this  world  of  life  and  death  and  joy 
and  sorrow,  if  things  arc  shabby?  The  fact  is, 
the  secret  of  happiness  is  the  sense  of  propor 
tion;  eliminate,  by  means  of  that  sense,  trouble 
about  the  unimportant,  and  we  would  all  be  con 
siderably  happier  than  kings.  Miss  Lydia  pos 
sessed  this  heaven-born  sense,  as  well  as  the 
boundless  wealth  of  interest  (for  to  him  that 


GRASSHOPPER   AND    THE    ANT 

hath  shall  be  given).  "  I  don't  want  to  brag," 
she  used  to  say,  "  but  I've  got  my  health  and 
my  friends ;  so  what  on  earth  more  do  I  want  ?" 
And  one  hesitated  to  point  out  a  little  thing 
like  a  shabby  mirror,  or  even  a  smoky  chimney. 
When  the  chimney  smoked,  Miss  Lydia  merely 
took  her  rocking-chair  and  her  sewing  out  into 
a  small  room  that  served  as  a  kitchen — and  then 
what  difference  did  the  smoking  make  ? 

And  as  it  turned  out,  one  shadowy  April  day, 
it  was  the  best  thing  she  could  have  done,  be 
cause,  when  Dr.  Lavendar  dropped  in  to  see  her, 
she  could  make  him  a  cup  of  tea  at  once,  without 
having  to  leave  him  alone.  She  was  a  little,  bus 
tling  figure,  rather  dusty  and  moth-eaten,  with  a 
black  frizette,  always  a  little  to  one  side,  and 
eager,  gentle,  blue  eyes. 

"  What's  the  news  ?"  she  said.  She  had  given 
Dr.  Lavendar  an  apple,  and  put  on  the  kettle, 
and  taken  up  her  hemming. 

"  I  never  saw  anybody  so  fond  of  sewing,"  the 
old  man  ruminated,  eating  his  apple.  "  I  believe 
you'd  sew  in  your  grave." 

"  I  believe  I  would.     Dear  me !  I  am  so  sorry 

for   the    poor   women    who    don't   like    to    sew. 

Amelia  Dilworth  told  me  that  Mrs.  Neddy  can't 

bear  to  take  a  needle  in  her  hand.     So  Milly  does 

*°  135 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

Ned's  mending  just  as  she  did  before  he  was 
married." 

"  Aren't  you  sorry  for  the  poor  men  that  don't 
like  to  sew?"  Dr.  Lavendar  said,  looking  about 
for  a  place  to  deposit  his  core — ("  Oh,  drop  it 
on  the  floor;  I'll  sweep  it  up  sometime,"  Miss 
Lydia  told  him ;  but  he  disposed  of  it  by  eating 
it). 

"  Well,  as  for  sewing,"  said  Miss  Lydia,  "  it's 
my  greatest  pleasure.  Why,  when  I  get  settled 
down  to  sew,  my  mind  roves  over  the  whole 
earth.  I  don't  want  to  brag,  but  I  don't  believe 
anybody  enjoys  herself  more  than  I  do  when 
I'm  sewing.  If  you  won't  tell,  I'll  tell  you  some 
thing,  Dr.  Layendar." 

"  I  won't  tell." 

"  Well,  then :  Sunday  used  to  be  an  awful  day 
to  me.  I  couldn't  sew,  and  so  I  couldn't  think. 
And  I  really  couldn't  go  to  church  all  day.  So 
I  just  bought  some  beautiful,  fine  nainsook  and 
cut  out  my  shroud.  And  I  work  on  that  Sun 
days,  because  a  shroud  induces  serious  thoughts." 

"  I  should  think  it  might,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar. 

"You  don't  think  it's  wrong,  do  you?"  she 
asked,   anxiously;   and   added,   joyously,   "I'm 
embroidering  the  whole  front.     I  declare  I  don't 
know  what  I'll  do  when  I  get  it  done." 
136 


GRASSHOPPER   AND    THE   ANT 

"  Embroider  the  whole  back." 

"Well,  yes.  I  can  do  that,"  Miss  Lydia, 
assented.  "  There !  there's  your  tea." 

Dr.  Lavendar  took  his  tea  and  stirred  it 
thoughtfully.  "  Miss  Lydia,"  he  said,  and  look 
ed  hard  at  the  tea,  "  what  do  you  suppose?  Mr. 
William  Rives — "  Dr.  Lavendar  stopped  and 
drank  some  tea.  "  How  many  years  ago  was  it 
that  he  went  away  from  Old  Chester?  I  don't 
exactly  remember." 

"  It  was  thirty-one  years  ago,"  she  said ;  she 
put  down  her  own  cup  of  tea  and  stared  at  him. 
"  What  were  you  going  to  say  about  him,  sir?" 

"  Well,  only,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar,  scraping 
the  sugar  from  the  bottom  of  his  cup,  "  only 
that—" 

"  There !  my  goodness !  I'll  give  you  another 
lump,"  cried  Miss  Lydia ;  "  don't  wear  my  spoon 
out.  What  about  him,  sir?" 

Dr.  Lavendar  explained  that  he  had  come  back 
on  the  stage  from  Mercer  the  night  before  with  a 
strange  gentleman — "  stout  man,"  Dr.  Lavendar 
said,  "  with  a  black  wig.  I  was  rooting  about  in 
my  pocket-book  for  a  stamp — I  wanted  to  post 
a  letter  just  as  we  were  leaving  Mercer;  and  this 
gentleman  very  politely  offered  me  one.  I  took 
it.  Then  I  looked  at  him,  and  there  was  some- 
137 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

thing  familiar  about  him.  I  asked  him  if  we 
had  not  met  before,  and  he  told  me  who  he  was. 
He  has  changed  a  good  deal." 

Miss  Lydia  drank  her  tea  excitedly.  "  Where 
is  he  going  to  stay?  Is  he  well?  Has  he  come 
back  rich?"  She  hoped  so.  William  was  so 
industrious,  he  deserved  to  be  rich.  She  ran  into 
the  smoky  front  room  and  brought  out  his  pict 
ure,  regarding  it  with  affectionate  interest. 
"  Did  you  know  I  was  engaged  to  him,  years 
ago,  Dr.  Lavendar?  We  thought  it  best  to  part. 
But—  She  stopped  and  looked  at  the  picture, 
and  a  little  color  came  into  her  face.  But  in  an 
other  moment  she  was  chattering  her  birdlike 
questions. 

"  I  declare,"  Dr.  Lavendar  said,  at  last,  "  you 
are  the  youngest  person  of  my  acquaintance." 

Miss  Lydia  laughed.  "  I  hope  you  don't 
think  it's  wrong  to  be  young?"  she  said. 

"Wrong?"  said  Dr.  Lavendar;  "it's  wrong 
not  to  be  young.  I'd  be  ashamed  not  to  be 
young.  My  body's  old,  but  that's  not  my  fault. 
I'm  not  to  blame  for  an  old  body,  but  I  would  be 
to  blame  for  an  old  soul.  An  old  soul  is  a  shame 
ful  thing.  Mind,  now,  don't  let  me  catch  you 
getting  old !" 

And  then  he  said  good-bye,  and  left  her  sit- 
138 


GRASSHOPPER   AND    THE   ANT 

ting  by  the  stove.  She  turned  her  skirt  back 
over  her  knees  to  keep  it  from  scorching  and 
held  the  picture  in  her  left  hand  and  warmed  the 
palm  of  the  right;  then  in  her  right  hand  and 
warmed  the  left.  Then  she  put  it  down  on  her 
knees  and  warmed  both  hands  and  smiled. 


II 


WHEN  Mrs.  Barkley  heard  the  news  of  the 
wanderer's  return,  she  hurried  to  Dr.  Lavendar's 
study.  "  Do  you  suppose  we  need  go  on  with 
the  present?"  she  demanded,  excitedly. 

"  Why  not?"  said  Dr.  Lavendar. 

Mrs.  Barkley  looked  conscious.  "  I  only 
thought,  perhaps — maybe— Mr.  Rives — 

"  William  Rives's  presence  in  Old  Chester 
won't  improve  draughts,  will  it?"  Dr.  Lavendar 
said,  crossly.  And  that  was  all  she  could  get  out 
of  him. 

Meantime,  Old  Chester  began  to  kill  the 
fatted  calf.  Mr.  Rives  liked  fatted  calves ;  and, 
furthermore,  he  had  prudently  arranged  with 
Van  Home  at  the  Tavern  for  a  cash  credit  for 
each  meal  at  which  he  was  not  present.  "  For 
why,"  he  had  said,  reasonably  enough,  "  should 
I  pay  for  what  I  don't  get?"  So  he  went  cheer 
fully  wherever  he  was  bidden.  Old  Chester  ap 
proved  of  him  as  a  guest,  for,  though  talkative, 
he  was  respectful  in  his  demeanor,  and  he  did 
140 


GRASSHOPPER   AND    THE   ANT 

not,  so  Old  Chester  said,  "  put  on  airs."  He  was 
very  stout,  and  he  wore  a  black  wig  that  curled 
all  around  the  back  of  his  neck;  his  eyes  were 
somewhat  dull,  but  occasionally  they  glanced 
out  keenly  over  his  fat  cheeks.  He  had  a  very 
small  mouth  and  a  slight,  perpetual  smile  that 
gave  his  face  a  rather  kindly  look,  and  his  voice 
was  mild  and  soft. 

He  had  come  back  rich  (his  shabby  clothes  to 
the  contrary )  ;  "  and  poor  Lydia  is  so  poor," 
said  Old  Chester ;  "  perhaps — "  and  then  it 
paused  and  smiled,  and  added  that  "  it  would  be 
strange,  after  all  these  years,  if — " 

When  somebody  said  something  like  this  to 
Dr.  Lavendar  he  grew  very  cross.  "  Preposter 
ous  !"  he  said.  "  I  should  feel  it  my  duty  to  pre 
vent  anything  so  dreadful." 

And  there  were  romantic  hearts  in  Old  Chester 
who  were  displeased  with  him  for  this  remark. 
Mrs.  Drayton  said  it  showed  that  he  could  not 
understand  love ;  "  though  he  can't  be  blamed 
for  that,  as  he  never  married.  Still,"  said  Mrs. 
Drayton,  "  he  ought  to  have  married.  I  don't 
want  to  make  any  accusations,  but  I  always  look 
with  suspicion  on  an  unmarried  gentleman." 
Mrs.  Barkley  did  not  go  as  far  as  that,  but  she 
did  say  to  herself  that  Dr.  Lavendar  was  unro- 
141 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

mantic.  "  Dear  me !"  she  confided  to  Jane  Jay 
— "  if  anything  should  happen !  Well,  I'd  be 
glad  to  do  anything  I  could  to  bring  it  about." 

And  Mrs.  Barkley,  who  had  not  only  the 
courage  but  the  audacity  of  her  convictions,  in 
vited  the  parted  lovers  to  tea,  so  they  met  for  the 
first  time  at  her  house.  Mrs.  Barkley  was  the 
last  person  one  would  accuse  of  being  romantic, 
and  yet  Dr.  Lavendar  saw  fit  to  stop  at  her  door 
that  morning  and  say,  "  Matches  are  dangerous 
playthings,  ma'am!"  and  Mrs.  Barkley  grew 
very  red,  and  said  that  she  couldn't  imagine 
what  he  meant. 

However,  the  party  went  off  well  enough. 
Miss  Jane  Jay,  who  made  a  conscious  fourth, 
expected  some  quiverings  and  blushings;  but 
that  was  because  she  was  young — comparatively. 
If  she  had  been  older  she  would  have  known 
better.  Age,  with  shamefaced  relief,  has  learned 
the  solvent  quality  of  Time.  It  is  this  quality 
which  makes  possible  the  contemplation  of  cer 
tain  embarrassing  heavenly  reunions — where  ex 
planations  of  consolation  must  be  made.  .  .  . 
Thirty-one  years  of  days,  days  full  of  personal 
concerns  and  interests,  had  blurred  and  softened 
and  finally  almost  blotted  out  that  one  fierce  day 
of  angry  parting ;  those  thirty-one  years  of  days 


GRASSHOPPER   AND    THE   ANT 

had  made  this  man  and  woman  able  to  meet  with 
a  sort  of  calm,  good-natured  interest  in  each 
other.  Miss  Lydia — her  black  frizette  over  one 
smiling  eye,  her  hands  encased  in  white  cotton 
gloves,  a  new  ribbon  at  the  throat  of  her  very 
old  alpaca — called  him  "  William,"  with  the 
most  commonplace  friendliness.  He  began  with 
"  Miss  Sampson,"  but  ended  before  supper  was 
over  with  her  first  name,  and  even,  once,  just  as 
they  were  going  home,  with  "  Lydy,"  at  which 
she  did  start  and  blink  for  an  instant,  and  Jane 
Jay  thought  a  faint  color  came  into  her  cheek. 
However,  he  did  not  offer  to  walk  home  with  her, 
but  bowed  politely  at  Mrs.  Barkley's  gate,  and 
would  have  betaken  himself  to  the  Tavern  had 
not  Mrs.  Barkley,  when  he  was  half-way  across 
the  street,  called  after  him.  There  was  a  flutter 
of  uncertainty  in  her  voice,  for  those  words  of 
Dr.  Lavendar's  (which  she  did  not  understand) 
"  stuck,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  in  her  crop."  Mr. 
Rives  came  back  and  paused  in  the  moonlight, 
looking  up  at  Mrs.  Barkley  standing  in  the  door 
way.  "  I  should  be  pleased,  sir,"  she  said,  "  to 
have  a  few  words  with  you." 

"  Certainly,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.   Rives,  in  his 
soft  voice,  and  followed  her  into  the  parlor. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Mrs.  Barkley. 
143 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

William  Rives  sat  down  thoughtfully.  A 
tall  lamp  on  the  heavy,  claw-footed  table  emitted 
a  feeble  light  through  its  ground-glass  globe, 
and  Mrs.  Barkley  stared  at  it  a  moment,  as 
though  for  inspiration ;  then  she  said,  in  a  deep 
bass :  "  Mr.  Rives,  I  thought  you  might  be  in 
terested  in  a  certain  little  project.  Some  of  us 
have  thought  that  we  would  collect — a — a  small 
sum — " 

Mr.  Rives  bowed;  his  smiling  lips  suddenly 
shut  tight. 

"  Perhaps  you  have  not  heard  that  our  old 
friend  Lydia  Sampson  is  in  reduced  circum 
stances;  and  some  of  us  thought  that  a  small 
present  of  money — " 

"  Ah—"  said  Mr.  Rives. 

Mrs.  Barkley  felt  the  color  come  up  into  her 
face  at  that  small,  cold  sound.  "  Lydia  is  very 
poor,"  she  blurted  out. 

"  Really  ?"  murmured  Mr.  Rives,  with  embar 
rassment;  and  fell  to  stroking  his  beaver  hat 
carefully.  Then  he  added  that  he  deeply  re 
gretted  Mrs.  Barkley's  information. 

"  I  knew  you  would,"  she  said,  in  a  relieved 
voice.  "  LydJa  is  a  dear  girl.  So  kind  and  so 
uncomplaining!  And — and  faithful  in  hef 
affections,  William." 

144 


GRASSHOPPER   AND    THE   ANT 

"  Ah !"  said  Mr.  Rives  again ;  his  smile  never 
changed,  but  his  eyes  were  keen. 

"  Yes,"  Mrs.  Barkley  said,  boldly.  "  Why, 
William — I  don't  know  that  I  ought  to  tell  you, 
but  do  you  remember  a  sketch  of  yourself  that 
you  gave  her  in — in  other  days?  William,  she 
has  kept  it  ever  since.  It  hangs  in  her  parlor, 
(horrid,  smoky  room!)  And  she  keeps  a  sprig 
of  fresh  box  stuck  in  the  frame." 

"  Really  ?"  said  Mr.  Rives ;  and  his  face  grew 
a  little  redder. 

"That's  all,"  Mrs.  Barkley  said,  abruptly. 
"  Now  go.  I  just  thought  I'd  mention  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Rives ;  then  added  that  it  was 
a  beautiful  night,  and  politely  bowed  himself 
out. 

"  But  he  didn't  say  anything  about  giving 
anything,"  Mrs.  Barkley  told  Dr.  Lavendar  the 
next  day.  And  whatever  romantic  hopes  she 
may  have  had  withered  under  the  blighting 
touch  of  such  indifference. 
10 


Ill 


MRS.  BARKLEY'S  hopes  withered  and  then  re 
vived  ;  for  as  she  climbed  the  hill  to  the  Stuffed- 
Animal  House  a  day  or  two  later  whom  should 
she  see  wandering  through  the  graveyard  (of  all 
places!)  but  Lydia  and  William.  "Of  course, 
I  pretended  not  to  see  them,"  she  told  Harriet 
Hutchinson,  "  but  I  believe  they've  begun  to 
take  notice." 

They  had  not  seen  her ;  the  graveyard  was  on 
the  crest  of  the  hill,  and  the  road  lay  below  the 
bank  and  the  stone  wall,  wherein  were  set  two  or 
three  iron  doors  streaked  and  eaten  with  rust, 
each  with  its  name  and  its  big  ring-bolt.  There 
was  a  bleached  fringe  of  dead  gras*  along  the 
top  of  the  wall,  but  the  bank  above  was  growing 
green  in  the  April  sunshine.  There  were  many 
trees  in  this  older  part  of  the  cemetery,  and  even 
now,  when  the  foliage  was  hardly  more  than  a 
mist,  the  tombs  and  low  mounds  and  old  head 
stones  were  dappled  with  light  shadows.  Miss 
Lydia  and  William  had  met  here,  by  some 
146 


GRASSHOPPER   AND    THE   ANT 

chance ;  and  Mrs.  Barkley,  climbing  the  road  be 
fore  it  dipped  below  the  bank,  had  caught  sight 
of  them  just  where  the  slope  broke  into  sun 
shine  beyond  the  trees.  Behind  them,  leaning 
sidewise  over  a  sunken  grave,  was  a  slate  head 
stone,  its  base  deep  in  a  thatch  of  last  year's 
grass ;  there  were  carved  cherubs  on  the  corners, 
and  the  inscription  was  blurred  with  lichen.  A 
still  older  tomb,  a  slab  of  granite  on  four 
pedestals,  made  a  seat  for  Miss  Lydia.  She  had 
been  deciphering  its  crumbling  inscription: 

*'  Mr.  Amos  Sm  .  .  t  Sr. 

Born 1734 

Die  .  .  .  May  7th,  1802 
Aged  68 

"  Base  body,  thou  art  faint  and  weak — 

(How  the  sweet  moments  roll!) 
A  mortal  paleness  on  thy  cheek, 
But  glory  in  thy  soul!" 

William,  reading  it,  had  remarked  that  he 
thought  people  lived  longer  nowadays.  "  Don't 
you?"  he  added,  anxiously. 

"  We   live   long   enough,"    Miss   Lydia   said. 
"  I  don't  want  to  live  too  long." 

"  You  can't  live  too  long,"  he  told  her,  with 
his  sharp  smile. 

147 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

Miss  Lydia  laughed  and  looked  down  at  the 
crumbling  stone.  "  I  think  sixty-eight  was  just 
about  long  enough.  I'm  like  Dr.  Lavendar;  he 
says  he  '  wants  to  get  up  from  the  banquet  of 
life  still  hungry.'  That's  the  way  I  feel.  I 
don't  want  to  lose  my  appetite  for  life  by  getting 
too  much  of  it." 

"  I  couldn't  get  too  much,"  Mr.  Rives  said, 
nervously.  "  Let  us  proceed.  This  place  is— 
is  not  cheerful.  I  like  cheerfulness.  You  always 
seem  cheerful,  Lydy?" 

"  Course  I  am,"  she  said,  getting  up.  "  Why 
shouldn't  I  be?  I  haven't  a  care  in  the  world." 

"  You  don't  say  so !"  said  William  Rives.  "  I 
was  under  the  impression  that  your  circum 
stances — 

"  My  circumstances  ?"  said  Miss  Lydia. 
"  Bless  you !  I  haven't  any.  Father  didn't  leave 
much  of  anything.  I  had  $2000,  but  Cousin 
Robinson  invested  it  and  lost  it.  He  felt  so 
badly,  I  was  just  distressed  about  him." 

"  He  should  have  been  prosecuted !"  Mr.  Rives 
said,  angrily. 

Miss  Lydia  shook  her  head  in  horrified  pro 
test,  but  she  beamed  at  him  from  under  her 
black  frizettc.  grateful  for  his  sympathy. 

"  I  remember,"  he  said,  thoughtfully,  "  that 
148 


GRASSHOPPER   AND    THE   ANT 

you  were  always  light-hearted.  I  recall  your 
once  telling  me  that  you  began  to  sing  as  soon 
as  you  got  up  in  the  morning." 

"  Oh  yes,"  Miss  Lydia  said,  simply.  "  I  al 
ways  sing  the  morning  hymn.  You  know  the 
morning  hymn,  William? 

**  *  Awake,  my  soul,  and  with  the  sun 
Thy  daily  course  of  duty  run — 

William  nodded.  "Vocal  exercises  (if  in 
tune  and  not  too  loud)  are  always  cheerful,"  he 
said. 

Gossiping  thus  of  simple  things,  they  walked 
back  to  Lydia's  house  and  sat  down  in  her  parlor. 
There  William  told  her,  with  a  sort  of  whimper, 
that  his  health  was  bad.  "  I  sent  for  Willy  King 
— he  is  so  young,  he  ought  not  to  charge  the  full 
fee.  I  remember  him  as  a  very  impudent  boy," 
Mr.  Rives  said,  growing  red  at  some  memory  of 
William's  youth ;  "  however,  he  seems  a  respect 
able  young  man." 

"  Oh,  indeed  he  is,"  said  Miss  Lydia ;  "  he  is 
a  dear,  good  boy.  I  hope  he  is  doing  you  good  ?" 
she  ended,  with  eager  kindness. 

"  Yes,  I  think  so,"  he  said,  anxiously.  And 
then  he  gave  his  symptoms  with  a  detail  that 
made  poor  Miss  Lydia  get  very  red.  "  And 
149 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

I  don't  sleep  very  well,"  he  ended,  sighing. 
"  Willy  told  me  to  try  repeating  the  kings  of 
England  backward,  but  I  couldn't  remember 
them ;  so  it  didn't  do  any  good." 

"  When  I  don't  sleep,"  said  Miss  Lydia,  "  I 
just  count  my  blessings.  That's  a  splendid 
thing  to  do,  because  you  fall  asleep  before  you 
get  to  the  end  of  'em." 

William  sighed.  "  The  kings  of  England  was 
a  foolish  prescription;  yet  I  paid  Willy  $1.50 
for  that  call.  Still,  I  must  say  I  think  he  is 
doing  me  good ;  but  he  recommends  many  expen 
sive  things — perhaps  because  he  is  young.  He 
wished  me  to  hire  a  vehicle  and  drive  every  day. 
Now  just  think  of  the  expense  of  such  a  thing! 
I  suggested  to  him  that  instead  of  hiring  a  con 
veyance,  I  would  go  out  with  him  in  his  buggy 
whenever  he  calls.  He  is  a  very  young  man  to 
treat  an  important  case,"  William  ended,  sigh 
ing.  Then  he  asked  Lydia  about  her  health, 
with  an  exactness  which  she  thought  very 
kind. 

"  Yes,  I'm  always  well ;  and  so  sorry  for  the 
poor  people  who  are  sick,"  she  said. 

"  You  are  a  good  nurse,  aren't  you,  Lydy  ?" 
he  asked. 

"  I'm  always  glad  when  I  can  do  anything  for 
150 


GRASSHOPPER   AND    THE   ANT 

a  sick  person.  I'm  so  sorry  for  'cm,"  Miss  Lydia 
said,  kindly. 

"  And  you  arc  economical,  aren't  you,  Lydy  ?" 
Mr.  Rives  inquired,  in  his  mild  voice,  "  and  not 
fond  of  dress?" 

"  Bless  you !"  said  Lydia,  "  how  can  I  be  any 
thing  but  economical  ?  And  as  for  being  fond  of 
dress — I'm  fond  of  my  old  dresses,  William." 

"  That  is  an  excellent  trait,"  said  William 
Rives,  solemnly.  Then,  catching  sight  of  his 
own  portrait — the  slim,  ansemic  young  person  in 
a  stock  and  tight-waisted  coat,  with  very  small 
feet  and  very  large  hat,  he  got  up  to  look  at  it. 
"  I — have  changed  a  little,"  he  said,  doubt- 
fully. 

"  It's  more  becoming  to  be  heavier,"  Miss 
Lydia  said.  And  this  remark  gave  him  such 
obvious  satisfaction  that  when  he  went  away 
his  perpetual  smile  had  deepened  into  positive 
heartiness. 

It  was  after  this  talk  that  he  finally  added  his 
offering  to  the  "  Present"  which  just  then  was 
occupying  Old  Chester's  attention.  "  And  how 
much  do  }^ou  suppose  I  got  out  of  him?"  Mrs. 
Barkley  asked  Dr.  Lavendar.  "  $1.50!" 

However,  other  friends  were  more  liberal,  and 
by  the  end  of  May  the  $85  (grown  now  into  the 
151 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

round  sum  of  $100)  was  ready  for  Miss  Lydia. 
A  little  silk  bag,  with  a  scrap  of  paper  twisted 
about  its  ribbon  drawing-string,  was  thrust  one 
evening  by  an  unknown  hand  into  Miss  Lydia's 
door.  In  it  were  twenty  five-dollar  gold  pieces. 
"  From  old  friends,"  Dr.  Lavendar  had  written 
on  the  scrap  of  paper. 

"  Sha'n't  we  say — '  for  repairs  '  ?"  Mrs.  Bark- 
ley  asked,  doubtfully. 

"  No,"  Dr.  Lavendar  declared ;  "  I'd  rather 
say  '  to  buy  curl-papers.'  Of  course  she'll  use 
it  for  repairs ;  but  we  mustn't  dictate." 

Nobody  saw  Miss  Lydia  gasp  when  she  opened 
the  bag,  and  sit  down,  and  then  cry  and  laugh, 
but  probably  every  friendly  heart  in  Old  Chester 
was  busy  imagining  the  scene,  for  every  friend 
had  contributed.  They  had  all  done  it  in  their 
different  ways — and  how  character  confesses  it 
self  in  this  matter  of  giving !  .  .  .  Mrs.  Dale, 
who  gave  the  largest  sum,  did  it  with  calm,  im 
personal  kindness.  Martha  King  said  that  she 
had  so  many  calls  upon  her  charity  that  she 
couldn't  give  much,  but  was  glad  to  do  what  she 
could.  Miss  Harriet  Hutchinson  said  it  was  a 
first-rate  idea,  and  she  was  obliged  to  Mrs.  Bark- 
ley  for  letting  her  have  a  hand  in  it ;  as  for  Mrs. 
Drayton,  she  said  it  was  a  great  trial  not  to  con- 
152 


GRASSHOPPER   AND    THE   ANT 

tribute,  but  she  could  not  do  so  conscientiously. 
"  /  make  such  things  a  matter  of  prayer,"  she 
said;  "some  do  not.  I  do  not  judge  them.  I 
never  judge  any  one.  But  I  take  all  such  mat 
ters  to  the  Throne  of  Grace,  and  as  a  result  I 
feel  that  such  things  are  injurious  to  a  poor 
person,  and  so  I  must  deny  myself  the  pleasure 
of  charity." 

William  Rives  said  that  he  would  be  pleased 
to  contribute,  and  Mrs.  Barkley  had  a  moment 
of  intense  excitement  when  she  read  his  check— 
$150.  But  her  emotion  only  lasted  until  she  put 
on  her  spectacles. 

And  yet,  when  Lydia,  sitting  at  the  kitchen 
table,  wiped  her  eyes  and  counted  her  gold  by 
the  light  of  a  candle  in  a  hooded  candlestick,  she 
felt,  somehow,  William's  hand  in  it.  For,  by 
this  time,  William's  friendliness  was  beyond  any 
question.  He  came  to  see  her  every  other  day, 
and  he  told  her  all  his  symptoms  and  talked  of 
his  loneliness  and  forlornness  until  they  were 
both  moved  to  tears. 

"  Poor  William !"  she  said,  her  eyes  overflow 
ing  with  sympathy.  "  Well,  I'm  glad  you  have 
plenty  of  money,  anyhow.  It  would  be  hard  to 
be  poor  and  have  bad  health,  too." 

"  But  I  haven't  plenty  of  money,"  William 
153 


DR.   LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

said,  with  agitation.     "  How  did  you  get  such 
an  idea?     I  haven't!" 

And  then  Miss  Lydia  was  sorrier  for  him  than 
ever.  "  Although,"  she  said,  cheerfully,  "  pov 
erty  is  the  last  thing  to  worry  about.  Look  at 
me.  I  don't  want  to  brag,  but  I'm  always  con 
tented,  and  I'll  tell  you  why :  I  don't  want  things. 
Don't  want  things,  and  then  you're  not  unhappy 
without  'em." 

"  Oh,  Lydy,  that's  so  true,"  Mr.  Rives  said, 
earnestly.  "  I'm  so  glad  you  feel  that  way." 
And  he  began  to  call  every  day. 

"  It's  plain  to  be  seen  what's  going  to  hap 
pen,"  said  Mrs.  Barklcy,  excitedly,  and  whisper 
ed  her  hopes  (in  secret)  to  almost  everybody  in 
Old  Chester — except  Dr.  Lavendar.  He  became 
very  ill-tempered  the  moment  she  approached  the 
subject.  But  she  was  jocose,  in  a  deep  bass,  to 
Miss  Lydia  herself ;  and  Miss  Lydia  did  not  pre 
tend  to  misunderstand.  She  reddened  and  laugh 
ed  ;  but  her  eyes  were  not  clear ;  there  was  a  puz 
zled  look  at  the  back  of  them.  Still,  when  she 
sat  and  looked  at  her  gold  the  puzzle  lightened, 
and  her  face,  under  her  black  frizette — in  her 
excitement  fallen  sidewisc  over  one  ear — soften 
ed  almost  to  tears.  "  William  is  kind,"  she  said 
to  herself. 

154 


GRASSHOPPER   AND    THE   ANT 

And,  indeed,  at  that  very  moment  William  was 
referring  to  her  in  most  kindly  terms.  He  was 
sitting  in  Mrs.  Barkley's  gloomy  parlor,  on  the 
edge  of  the  horse-hair  sofa,  and  Mrs.  Barkley 
was  regarding  him  with  romantic  interest.  "  I 
have  been  much  saddened,  ma'am,"  he  was  say 
ing,  "  to  observe  the  destitution  of  Miss  Lydia 
Sampson." 

Mrs.  Barkley  beamed.  Was  he  going  to  do 
something,  after  all?  She  spoke  in  an  amiable 
bass,  twitching  her  heavy  eyebrows.  "  Our  little 
gift,  which  has  gone  to  her  to-night,  will  make 
her  more  comfortable.  I  could  wish  it  had  been 
larger,"  she  ended,  and  looked  sidewise  at  Mr. 
Rives,  who  bowed  and  regretted  that  it  was  not 
larger.  He  then  coughed  behind  his  hand. 

"  Mrs.  Barkley,  I  wish  to  approach  a  subject 
of  some  delicacy." 

("  He  is  going  to  do  something,"  she  thought, 
excitedly;  "  or  perhaps  he  means  marriage!") 

"  Mrs.  Barkley,  in  past  years  there  were  pas 
sages  of  affection  between  Miss  Sampson  and 
myself  "  (Mrs.  Barkley  bowed;  her  heart  began 
to  glow  with  that  warmth  which  stirs  the  oldest 
of  us  at  the  sight  of  a  lover). 

"  We  were  younger  in  those  days,  ma'am," 
William  said,  in  his  soft  voice. 
155 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

"Oh  no!"  she  protested,  politely.  "Why, 
you  are  very  well  preserved,  I'm  sure." 

"  Yes,"  said  William,  "  I  am.  Yet  I  am  not 
as  young  as  I  once  was." 

This  drifting  away  from  Miss  Lydia  disturbed 
Mrs.  Barkley.  She  lowered  her  chin  and  glared 
at  him  over  her  spectacles,  saying,  in  a  rumbling- 
bass  :  "  Neither  is  Lydia ;  and  it's  hard  for  her 
to  be  destitute  in  her  old  age." 

"  Just  so,"  Mr.  Rives  said,  eagerly — "  ex 
actly.  She  is  not  as  young  as  she  once  was, 
which,  for  many  reasons,  is  desirable.  But  I 
think  she  is  healthy?" 

"Why,  yes,"  Mrs.  Barkley  admitted;  "but 
I  don't  know  that  that  makes  it  easier  to  be 
poor." 

"  But  I  infer  that  poverty  has  taught  her 
economy?"  William  Rives  said. 

"  Yes ;  but  poverty  is  a  hard  teacher." 

"  But  thorough — thorough !"  said  Mr.  Rives ; 
"  and  some  people  will  learn  of  no  other." 

Mrs.  Barkley  was  growing  impatient ;  she 
gave  up  marriage  and  thought  of  a  pension. 

"  Yes,"  said  William ;  "  she  is  economical,  and 

has  good  health,  and  is  fond  of  old  clothes,  and 

is   kind-hearted,   and   doesn't   have   any   wants. 

Excellent  traits — excellent.     I  have  looked  very 

156 


GRASSHOPPER   AND    THE   ANT 

carefully  at  the  items  of  expense  in  regard  to  a 
housekeeper  or  nurse." 

Mrs.  Barkley  stared  at  him  in  bewilderment. 
Was  he  going  to  offer  Lydia  a  position  as  house 
keeper?  She  was  fairly  dizzy  with  this  seesaw 
of  possibilities ;  and  she  was  perplexed,  too,  for, 
after  all,  badly  as  Lydia  needed  assistance,  pro 
priety  must  be  considered,  and  certainly  this 
housekeeping  project  was  of  doubtful  propriety. 
"  Because  you  know  you  are  neither  of  you  very 
old,"  she  explained. 

Mr.  Rives  looked  disturbed.  "  Yes,  we  are," 
he  said,  sharply.  "  Quite  old  enough.  I  would 
not  wish  a  youthful  wife,  for — many  reasons. 
There  might  be — results,  which  would  interfere 
with  my  comfort.  No,  Lydia  is  no  longer 
young;  yet  she  is  sufficiently  robust  to  make  me 
extremely  comfortable."  The  light  was  break 
ing  slowly  on  Mrs.  Barkley.  Her  face  flushed ; 
she  sat  up  very  straight  and  tapped  the  table 
with  her  thimble.  "  The  expense  of  an  extra 
person  is  not  very  considerable,  is  it?"  Mr.  Rives 
said,  doubtfully.  "  It  was  in  regard  to  this  that 
I  wished  to  consult  you." 

"  Not  more  than  the  wages  of  a  housekeeper 
or  a  nurse,"  Mrs.  Barkley  said,  in  a  restrained 
voice. 

157 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

"  Exactly !"  cried  Mr.  Rives—"  granted  that 
her  health  is  good." 

Mrs.  Barkley  opened  and  closed  her  lips.  Her 
impulse  to  show  him  the  door  battled  with  her 
common-sense.  After  all,  it  would  mean  a  home 
for  Lydia ;  it  would  mean  comfort  and  ease  and 
absence  from  worry — plus,  of  course,  Mr.  Rives. 
But  if  Lydia  liked  him,  that  wouldn't  make  any 
difference.  And  she  must  like  him — her  faith 
fulness  to  the  picture  proved  it — and  he  was 
an  agreeable  person;  amiable,  too,  Mrs.  Bark- 
ley  thought,  for  he  always  smiled  when  he 
spoke. 

"Would  you  live  in  Old  Chester?"  she 
managed  to  say,  after  a  pause. 

"  Yes." 

"  You  would  build,  I  suppose?"  Mrs.  Barkley 
said,  trying,  in  the  confusion  of  her  thoughts, 
to  make  time. 

"  No,"  Mr.  Rives  said ;  "  we  would  reside  in 
Lydia's  present  abode." 

"  In  Lydia's  house?  You  couldn't! — why,  it 
would  be  impossible !" 

Mrs.  Barkley,  her  mouth  open  with  astonish 
ment,  saw,  suddenly,  that  this  project  was  not 
comfort  plus  William,  but  William  minus  com 
fort.  "  You  couldn't !  The  chimney  in  the 
158 


GRASSHOPPER   AND   THE   ANT 

parlor  is  dreadful ;  it  smokes  whenever  the  wind 
is  from  the  west." 

"  But,  as  I  understand,  Lydia  has  been  pro 
vided  with  the  means  of  mending  the  chimney  ?" 
William  said,  anxiously. 

At  this  the  rein  broke.  Mrs.  Barkley  rose, 
tapping  the  table  with  alarming  loudness  and 
glaring  down  at  her  guest.  "  William  Rives,  I 
have  been  a  perfect  fool.  But  you  are  worse— 
you  are  a  mean  person.  I'd  rather  live  with  a 
murderer  than  a  mean  man !" 

Mr.  Rives  was  unmoved.  His  little,  steely 
smile  never  wavered;  he  rose  also,  bowed,  and 
said :  "  Possibly  Miss  Sampson  does  not  agree 
with  you.  I  will  bid  you  good-night,  ma'am." 

"  I  was  a  perfect  fool,"  she  said  again,  as  the 
door  closed  softly  behind  him. 

But  William  Rives  was  no  fool.  .  .  .  He  said 
to  himself  that  it  behooved  him  to  see  Miss 
Lydia  before  Mrs.  Barkley  had  a  chance  to  im 
part  to  her  those  impolite  views  regarding  him 
self.  And  that  was  why,  as  she  was  still  sitting 
at  her  kitchen  table,  twinkling  with  happiness 
over  the  kindness  of  her  world  and  piling  her 
gold  pieces  in  a  little  leaning  tower,  William 
knocked  at  the  door. 

Miss  Lydia  threw  an  apron  over  the  small, 
159 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

glittering  heap  and  ran  to  let  her  caller  in. 
When  she  saw  who  it  was  she  whipped  off  the 
apron  to  display  her  wealth;  the  tears  stood  in 
her  eyes,  and  her  happy  heart  burst  into  words : 
"How  good  people  are!  Just  think — $100! 
Why,  it  takes  my  breath  away — " 

"  It  is  a  large  sum  of  money,"  William  said, 
solemnly,  touching  the  gold  with  respectful  fin 
gers.  "  I  would  suggest  a  bank  until  you  pay 
for  the  mending  of  your  chimney.  And  you 
will  get  some  interest  if  you  defer  payment  for 
ninety  days." 

"  Mending  my  chimney  ?"  Miss  Lydia  said, 
thoughtfully.  "  Well— that  wouldn't  take  near 
ly  all  this." 

William's  face  brightened.  "  You  are  right 
to  be  prudent,  Lydia,"  he  said.  "  I  admire 
prudence  in  a  female;  but  still,  masons  and 
carpenters — in  fact,  all  persons  of  that  sort, — 
arc  —  thieves!"  Then  he  coughed  delicately. 
"  Lydia,"  he  said,  "  I — I  have  been  thinking — " 

"  Yes  ?"  said  Miss  Lydia,  calmly. 

"  We  are  so  situated — each  alone,  that  per 
haps  we  might — we  might,  ah — marry — to  our 
mutual  advantage?" 

"  Marry?" 

"  Yes,"  William  said,  earnestly;  "  I  should  be 
J60 


U  MRS.   BAKKLEY  ROSK,  TAPPING   THE  TABLE   WITH 
ALARMING    LOFDNESS  " 


GRASSHOPPER   AND   THE   ANT 

pleased  to  marry,  Lydy.  I  need  a  home.  My 
health  is  not  very  good,  and  I  need  a  home.  You 
need  a  home,  also." 

"Indeed  I  don't!"  she  said;  "I've  got  a 
home,  thank  you." 

"  I  haven't,"  William  said ;  and  Lydia's  blue 
eyes  softened.  "  I  am  not  very  strong,"  he  said 
("  though  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  not  live 
to  old  age)  ;  but  I  want  a  home.  Won't  you  take 
me,  Lydy  ?" 

Miss  Lydia  frowned  and  sighed.  "  I  am  very 
well  satisfied  as  I  am,"  she  said ;  "  but  perhaps 
that  is  a  selfish  way  to  look  at  it." 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  he  told  her,  earnestly ;  "  and  you 
didn't  use  to  be  selfish,  Lydia." 

Miss  Lydia  sighed  again.    "  I  suppose  I  could 
make  you  comfortable,  William." 
"  Do  take  me,  Lydy,"  he  entreated. 
And  somehow  or  other,  before  she  quite  knew 
it,  she  had  consented. 

As  soon  as  the  word  was  spoken,  William  arose 
with  alacrity.  "  I  don't  like  to  be  out  in  the 
night  air,"  he  said,  "  so  I'll  say  good-night, 
Lydy.  And,  Lydy — shall  we,  for  the  moment, 
keep  this  to  ourselves?" 

"  Oh   yes,"    said    Miss    Lydia,    getting   very 
red,  "  I'd  rather,  for  the  present."     Then,  smil- 
11  161 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

ing  and  friendly,  she  went  out  with  him,  bare 
headed,  to  the  gate.  There  William  hesitated, 
swallowed  once,  rubbed  his  hands  nervously,  and 
then  suddenly  gave  her  a  kiss. 

Miss  Lydia  Sampson  jumped.  "Oh!"  she 
said;  and  again,  "  Oh!" 

And  then  she  ran  back  into  the  house,  her 
eyes  wet  and  shining,  her  face  flushed  to  her 
forehead.  She  sat  down  by  the  table  and  put 
her  hands  over  her  eyes ;  she  laughed,  in  a  sort 
of  sob,  and  her  breath  came  quickly. 

"  I  hadn't  thought  of  it — that  way,"  she  whis 
pered  to  herself.  And  somehow,  as  she  sat  there 
by  her  kitchen  table,  she  began  to  think  of  it 
that  way — Miss  Lydia  was  very  young!  .  .  . 
Oh,  she  would  try  and  make  him  happy;  she 
would  try  and  be  more  orderly ;  she  would  try  to 
be  good,  since  her  Heavenly  Father  had  given 
back  to  her  the  old  happiness. 

And  that  night  she  did  not  bid  the  picture 
good-night. 

Mr.  Rives  was  himself  not  without  emotion. 
It  was  many  years,  he  reflected,  since  his  lips  had 
touched  those  of  a  female,  and  the  experience 
was  agreeable — so  agreeable  that  he  wished  to 
repeat  it  as  soon  as  possible ;  and,  furthermore, 
he  felt  anxious  to  know  that  Lydia  had  put  the 
162 


GRASSHOPPER   AND   THE   ANT 

gold  in  a  safe  place.  But  when  he  called  the 
next  day  he  was  a  little  late,  because,  as  he  ex 
plained  to  Miss  Lydia,  he  had  had  to  wait  for 
the  mail.  She  met  him  with  a  new  look  in  her 
innocent,  eager  eyes,  and  her  face  was  shy  and 
red.  As  she  sat  sewing,  listening  vaguely,  she 
would  glance  at  him  now  and  then,  as  if,  until 
now,  she  had  not  seen  him  since  that  day  of 
parting,  thirty-one  years  ago — the  thirty-one 
years  which  had  blotted  Amanda's  field  from  her 
memory.  The  old  happiness,  like  a  tide  long 
withdrawn,  was  creeping  back,  rising  and  rising, 
until  it  was  overflowing  in  her  eyes.  This  puffy 
gentleman,  with  his  tight,  smiling  mouth,  was 
the  William  of  her  youth — and  she  had  never 
known  it  until  last  night !  She  had  thought  of 
him  during  the  last  month  or  two  only  as  an  old 
friend  who  needed  the  care  which  her  kind  heart 
prompted  her  to  give;  and  lo!  suddenly  he  was 
the  lover  who  would  care  for  her. 

"  I  was  sorry,  my  dear  Lydia,  to  be  late,"  said 
Mr.  Rives,  in  his  soft  voice ;  "  I  was  detained  by 
waiting  for  the  mail." 

Miss  Lydia  said,  brightly,  that  it  didn't  mat 
ter. 

"  But  it  was  worth  waiting  for,"  William  as 
sured  her.  "  I  have  done  a  good  piece  of  busi- 
163 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

ness.  (Not  that  it  will  make  me  richer;  I  have 
so  many  obligations  to  meet!)  But  it  was  a 
fortunate  stroke." 

"  That  is  good,"  said  Miss  Lydia. 

"  A  female  in  a  distant  city,  where  I  own  a 
poor  little  bit  of  real  estate — nothing  of  any 
value,  Lydia ;  I  am  a  poor  man — 

"  That's  no  difference,"  she  told  him,  softly. 

" — this  female,  a  \vidow,  and  foolish  (as 
widows  always  are),"  William  said,  with  a  little 
giggle,  "  asked  me  to  sell  her  a  house  I  owned. 
She  wished,  for  some  reason,  to  purchase  in  that 
locality.  I  named  the  market  price.  I  did  so, 
by  letter,  a  fortnight  ago.  I  believe  she  thought 
it  high ;  but  that  was  her  affair.  She  would  have 
to  sell  certain  securities  to  purchase  it,  she  said. 
But  as  I  wrote  her — '  my  dear  madam,  that's 
your  business.'"  Mr.  Rives  laughed  a  little.  Miss 
Lydia  looked  up,  smiling  and  interested. 
"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Rives—"  I  didn't  urge  it.  I 
never  urge,  because  then  I  can't  be  blamed  if 
things  go  wrong.  But  I  held  my  price.  That 
is  always  good  policy — not  to  drop  a  dollar  on 
price.  So  she's  bought  it.  She  made  a  payment 
yesterday  to  bind  the  sale.  Not  that  I  feel  any 
richer,  for  I  must  immediately  apply  the  money 
to  the  purchase  of  other  things." 
164 


GRASSHOPPER   AND   THE   ANT 

"  That's  nice,"  Miss  Lydia  said. 
"  I  guess  it  is,"  William  agreed ;  "  I  happen 
to  know  that  a  boiler  factory  is  to  be  erected  on 
the  rear  lot." 

"But  will  she  like  that — the  poor  widow?" 
Miss  Lydia  said. 

Mr.  Rives  laughed  comfortably.  "  Ah,  Lydy, 
my  dear,  in  business  we  do  not  ask  such  ques 
tions  before  making  a  sale.  /  like  it.  In  three 
months  that  bit  of  property  will  have  shrunk  to 
an  eighth  of  its  selling  price  to-day."  Mr. 
Rives's  eyes  twinkled  with  satisfaction. 

"But — William!"  said  Miss  Lydia.  Sud 
denly  she  grew  pale.  "  William,"  she  said,  "  it 
seems  to  me  you  ought  to  have  told  the  poor 
widow." 

"  Lvdia,  a  lady  cannot  understand  business," 
William  said,  with  kindly  condescension,  but 
with  a  slight  impatience.  "  Don't  you  see,  if  I 
had  told  her,  she  would  not  have  made  the 
purchase  ?" 

Miss  Lydia  was  silent,  stroking  the  gathers 
of  her  cambric  with  a  shaking  needle.  Then  she 
said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  suppose  she  wouldn't." 

William     nodded     encouragingly.         '  You'll 
learn,  Lydia.     A  married  lady  learns  much  of 
business  methods  through  her  husband.    Though 
165 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

they  don't  profit  by  it,  I  notice;  widows  are  al 
ways  foolish.  Not  that — that  you  will  be  likely 
to  be — to  be  foolish,"  he  ended,  hastily,  frown 
ing  very  much. 

Lydia  went  on  sewing  in  silence.  The  color 
did  not  come  back  into  her  face,  which  caused 
William  to  ask  her  anxiously  how  she  was. 

'  You  are  sure  you  are  healthy,  Lydia,  aren't 
you?"  he  said. 

Miss  Lydia,  without  looking  at  him,  said  she 
was.  When  he  had  gone,  she  stopped  sewing 
and  glanced  about  her  in  a  frightened  way ; 
then  she  put  her  hands  over  her  eyes  and  drew 
in  her  breath,  and  once  she  shivered.  She  sat 
there  for  a  long  time.  After  a  while  she  got  up 
and  went  over  to  the  picture  of  Mr.  William 
Rives  and  stood  looking  at  it ;  and  as  she  looked 
her  poor,  terrified  eyes  quieted  into  tears  and  she 
straightened  the  bit  of  box  with  a  tender  hand, 
and  then  she  suddenly  bent  down  and  kissed  the 
slim  gentleman  behind  the  misty  glass. 

The  next  da^  when  she  met  her  lover  she  was 
cheerful  enough.  It  was  at  the  front  door  of 
the  Tavern;  Dr.  Lavcndar  was  there,  too,  wait 
ing  for  the  morning  stage  for  Mercer. 

"  Well !  well !     So  I  am  going  to  have  com 
pany,  am  I?"  he  said,  for  Miss  Lydia  was  wait- 
166 


GRASSHOPPER   AND   THE   ANT 

ing  for  it,  too.  Her  bonnet  was  on  one  side,  her 
shabby  jacket,  fading  from  black  to  green  on  the 
shoulders,  was  split  at  the  elbow  seams,  and  the 
middle  finger  of  each  glove  was  worn  through; 
but  her  eyes  were  shining  with  pleasure. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  nodding ;  "  I'm  going." 

Her  presence  seemed  to  be  a  surprise  to  Mr. 
Rives,  who  had  strayed  forth  from  the  break 
fast-room  to  see  the  stage  start. 

"  You  are  going  to  Mercer  ?"  he  said,  his 
small  smile  fading  into  an  astonished  question. 

"  Yes,"  Miss  Lydia  said,  laughing,  and  sud 
denly  she  gave  a  little  jump  of  happiness.  "  I 
haven't  been  to  Mercer  for  nine  years.  Oh,  dear ! 
isn't  it  just  delightful!" 

"  But,  why  ?"  William  persisted,  in  an  amazed 
aside. 

"  Oh,  that's  the  secret !"  cried  Miss  Lydia, 
clambering  into  the  stage ;  "  you'll  know  some 
time." 

"  I  suppose  you  wish  to  arrange  for  the  altera 
tions  of  your  house?"  William  said;  "but  con 
sidering  the  stage  fares  back  and  forth —  Oh, 
there  is  Dr.  Lavendar." 

He  came  round  to  the  other  side  of  the  stage, 
smiling  very  much.  "  Well,  sir,  good-morning ! 
good-morning,  sir!" 

167 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

"  Hello,"  Dr.  Lavendar  said. 

Mr.  Rives  rubbed  his  hands.  "  I  —  I  was 
about  to  say,  Dr.  Lavcndar— that  little  matter 
between  us — it's  of  no  importance,  of  course ; 
quite  at  jour  convenience,  sir;  I  don't  mean  to 
press  you — but  at  your  convenience,  sir." 

"  What  are  you  talking  about?"  Dr.  Lavcndar 
said,  with  a  puzzled  blink. 

"Well,"  William  said,  smiling,  "there's  no 
haste,  only  I  thought  I'd  just  remind  you.  I'm 
always  business-like  myself;  and  that  little  mat 
ter  of  accommodation — 

Dr.  Lavcndar  stared  at  him.  "  I  am  afraid 
I'm  a  stupid  old  fellow ;  I  don't  understand." 

The  stage-driver  gathered  up  his  reins ;  Miss 
Lydia  nodded  joyously  on  the  back  seat,  the  two 
other  passengers  frowned  at  the  delay ;  so  Will 
iam  Rives  made  haste  to  explain :  "  Merely,  sir, 
the  stamp  I  had  the  pleasure  of  lending  you. 
But  pray  don't  incommode  yourself;  I  merely 
remind  you  ;  it's  of  no— 

Dr.  Lavcndar  pulled  out  his  shabby  leather 
pocket-book,  his  hands  fairly  trembling  with 
haste,  and  produced  the  stamp ;  then  he  pulled 
the  door  to,  and  as  the  stage  sagged  forward  and 
went  tugging  up  the  hill,  he  turned  his  aston 
ished  eyes  on  Miss  Lydia.  She  had  grown  very 
168 


GRASSHOPPER   AND    THE   ANT 

pale,  but  she  said  nothing,  only  looking  out  of 
the  window  and  rubbing  her  little  cotton  gloves 
hard  together. 

"  Would  you  have  asked  him  for  a  receipt?" 
Dr.  Lavendar  said,  under  his  breath,  chuckling. 
But  when  she  tried  to  answer  him,  there  was 
something  in  her  face  that  turned  Dr.  Laven 
dar  grave. 

The  stage  jolted  on;  the  two  other  passen 
gers  chatted,  then  one  fell  asleep  and  the  other 
read  an  almanac.  Suddenly  Miss  Lydia  turned 
sharply  round.  "  It  just  kills  me !"  she  said. 

"  Nonsense !"  Dr.  Lavendar  told  her.  "  He 
is  a  man  of  business,  and  I'm  a  forgetful  old 
codger.  I  knew  William,  and  I  ought  to  have 
remembered." 

But  Miss  Lydia's  face  had  fallen  into  such 
drawn  and  anxious  lines  that  Dr.  Lavendar  had 
to  do  his  best  to  cheer  her.  He  began  to  ask 
questions :  How  long  was  it  since  she  had  been 
in  Mercer?  Was  she  going  to  call  on  friends? 
Was  she  going  to  shop?  "  I  believe  you  ladies 
always  want  to  shop?"  said  Dr.  Lavendar, 
kindly.  And  somehow  Miss  Lydia  brightened 
up.  Yes;  she  was  going  to  shop!  It  was  a 
secret;  she  couldn't  tell  Dr.  Lavendar  yet,  but 
he  should  know  about  it  first  of  all.  She  was  so 
169 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S   PEOPLE 


so  important,  so  excited,  that  her  pain 
at  William's  business-like  ways  seemed  for 
gotten;  and  when  in  Mercer  they  separated 
at  the  Stage  House,  she  went  bustling  off  into 
the  sunshine,  waving  a  shabby  cotton  glove 
at  him,  and  crying,  "  I  haven't  a  minute  to 
lose  !" 

Dr.  Lavendar  stood  still  and  shook  his  head. 
"  Pity,"  he  said  —  "  pity,  pity.  But  I  suppose 
it  can't  be  helped.  There's  no  use  telling  Will 
iam  about  her;  he  must  see  it.  And  there's  no 
use  telling  her  about  William;  she  must  see  it. 
No  —  no  use.  But  it's  a  pity  —  a  pity."  Which 
shows  that  Dr.  Lavendar  had  reached  that  de 
gree  of  wisdom  which  knows  that  successful  inter 
ference  in  love  affairs  must  come  from  the  inside, 
not  from  the  outside. 

He  did  not  see  Miss  Lydia  again  until  they 
met  in  the  afternoon  at  the  Stage  House,  and  for 
a  minute  he  did  not  recognize  her.  She  came 
running  and  panting,  laden  with  bundles,  to  the 
coach  door.  Indeed,  she  was  so  hurried  that 
one  of  her  innumerable  packages,  a  long,  slim 
bundle,  slipped  from  her  happy,  weary  arms, 
and,  hitting  the  iron  drop-step,  crashed  into 
fragments  and  splashed  her  dress  with  its  con 
tents.  "  Oh  !  that's  one  of  my  bottles  of  Cataw- 
170 


GRASSHOPPER  AND   THE   ANT 

ba,"   said   Miss   Lydia.      "Dear,   dear!     Well, 
never  mind ;  I'll  order  another." 

The  fragrance  of  the  wine  soaking  her  gloves 
and  the  front  of  her  faded  dress,  filled  the  stage 
(in  which  they  were  the  only  passengers),  and 
Miss  Lydia  joyously  licked  the  two  bare  finger 
tips.  "  Too  bad !"  she  said ;  "  but  accidents  will 
happen." 

Dr.  Lavendar  helped  her  pile  her  bundles  on 
the  front  seat,  and  then  he  unhooked  the  swing 
ing  strap  so  that  certain  parcels  could  be  put  on 
the  middle  bench.  Miss  Lydia  leaned  back  with 
a  happy  sigh.  "  The  rest  will  come  down  to 
morrow,"  she  said. 

"  The  rest?"  said  Dr.  Lavendar. 

"  Oh,  I've  just  got  to  tell  somebody !"  she  said. 
"  Promise  you  won't  tell?" 

"  I  won't  tell,"  he  assured  her. 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Lydia,  "  look  here — do  you 
see  that?"  She  tore  a  little  hole  in  a  long,  flat 
package,  and  Dr.  Lavendar  saw  a  gleam  of  blue. 
"  That's  a  dress.  Yes,  a  blue  silk  dress — for 
myself.  I'm  afraid  it  was  selfish  to  get  a  thing 
just  for  myself,  but  that  and  a  pair  of  white 
kid  gloves  and  some  lace  are  all  I  did  get ;  and 
I've  wanted  a  silk  dress,  a  blue  silk  dress,  ever 
since  I  got  poor." 

171 


DR.    LAYENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

Dr.  Lavcndar  looked  at  her  and  at  the  hole 
in  the  package,  and  at  her  again.  "  Lyd- 
ia !"  he  said,  "is  it  possible  that  you — ? 
Lydia!"  he  ended,  speechless  with  consterna 
tion. 

"  The  other  things  are  all  for  the  party." 

"The— party?" 

"  Presents !"  she  said,  rubbing  her  hands. 
"  Oh,  dear !  I'm  so  tired  !  And  I'm  so  happy ! 
Oh,  nobody  was  ever  so  happy.  The  party 
(that's  the  secret)  is  to  be  next  Thursday  a 
week ;  that  gives  me  time  to  make  my  dress.  I 
ordered  the  cake  in  Mercer.  All  pink-and-white 
icing — perfectly  lovely !  And  I  have  a  present 
for  everybody.  Here's  a  work-basket  for  Mar 
tha  King.  And  I  have  a  bird-cage  and  a  ca 
nary  for  dear  Willy  (that  is  to  come  down  to 
morrow;  I  really  couldn't  carry  everything). 
And  I've  got  a  knitted  shawl  for  Maria  Wei- 
wood,  and  a  cloak  for  her  dear  Rose — that  was 
rather  expensive,  but  it's  always  cheap  to  get 
the  best.  And  a  cornelian  breast-pin  for  Alice 
Gray.  And  a  Roman  sash  for  poor  little  Mary 
Gordon ;  she  seems  to  me  such  a  forlorn  child- 
no  mother,  and  that  rough  Alex  for  a  brother. 
And — well ;  oh,  dear !  I'm  so  excited  I  can  hard 
ly  remember — a  book  for  Mr.  Ezra;  a  book  for 


GRASSHOPPER   AND    THE   ANT 

Mrs.  Dale.  Books  arc  safe  presents,  don't  you 
think?" 

Dr.  Lavendar  groaned. 

"  And  a  picture  for  Rachel  King — that's  it ; 
that  square  bundle.  So  pretty !— a  little  girl 
saying  her  prayers ;  sweet ! — it's  like  her  Anna. 
And  a  box  of  candy  for  Sally  Smith's  little 
brothers ;  and  a  pair  of  agate  cuff-buttons  for 
Sally —  She  was  moving  her  packages  about 
as  she  checked  them  off,  and  she  looked  round 
at  Dr.  Lavendar  with  a  sigh  of  pure  joy.  He 
could  not  speak  his  distracted  thought. 

"  Oh,  you  mustn't  see  that,"  she  cried,  sud 
denly  pushing  a  certain  package  under  the  others 
with  great  show  of  secrecy ;  and  Dr.  Lavendar 
groaned  again.  "  I  think  a  party  with  presents 
for  everybody  will  be  very  unusual,  don't  you?" 
she  asked,  heaping  her  bundles  up  carefully ; 
two  more  fingers  had  burst  through  her  cot 
ton  gloves,  and  as  she  leaned  forward  a  but 
ton  snapped  off  her  jacket.  "  I  don't  want 
to  brag,"  she  said,  "  but  I  think  it  will  be 
as  nice  a  party  as  we  have  ever  had  in  Old 
Chester." 

"  But,  Lydia,  my  dear,"  Dr.  Lavendar  said, 
gently,  "  I  am  afraid  it  is  extravagant,  isn't  it, 
to  try  to  give  us  all  so  much  pleasure  ?  And  is  a 
173 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

blue  silk  frock  very — well,  serviceable,  I  believe, 
you  ladies  call  it?" 

"  No,  indeed  it  isn't,"  she  said,  with  sudden, 
pathetic  passion.  "  That's  why  I  got  it.  I 
never,  since  I  was  a  girl,  have  had  anything  that 
wasn't  serviceable." 

"  But,"  Dr.  Lavendar  said,  "  I  rather  hoped 
you  would  sec  your  way  clear  to  making  your 
house  a  little  more  comfortable?" 

"Why,  but  I'm  perfectly  comfortable,"  she 
assured  him ;  "  and  even  if  I  was  not,  I'd  rather, 
just  for  once  in  my  life,  have  my  party  and  give 
my  presents.  Oh,  just  once  in  a  lifetime!  I'd 
rather,"  she  said,  and  her  eyes  snapped  with  joy 
— "  I'd  rather  have  next  Thursday  night,  and 
my  house  as  it  is,  than  just  comfort  all  the  rest 
of  my  days.  Comfort!  What's  comfort?" 

"  Well,  Lydia,  it's  a  good  deal  to  some  of  us," 
Dr.  Lavendar  said.  And  then  his  eyes  narrowed. 
"  Lydia,  my  dear — does  Mr.  Rives  know  about 
this?" 

Miss  Lydia,  counting  her  packages  over,  said, 
absently,  "  No ;  it  is  to  be  a  surprise  to  William." 

"  If  I  am  not  mistaken,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar, 
"  it  will  be  a  very  great  surprise  to  William." 

And  then  he  fell  into  troubled  thought ;  but 
as  he  thought  his  face  brightened.  It  bright- 
174 


GRASSHOPPER   AND    THE   ANT 

ened  so  much  that  by  the  time  they  reached  Old 
Chester  he  was  as  joyously  excited  about  the 
party  as  was  Miss  Lydia  herself,  who  made  him 
a  thousand  confidences  about  her  dress  and  her 
presents  and  the  food  which  would  be  offered  to 
her  guests.  His  joyousness  had  not  abated 
when,  the  next  morning,  Mrs.  Barkley  presented 
herself,  breathless,  at  the  Rectory. 

"  I  think,"  said  she,  in  an  awful  bass,  sitting 
up  very  straight  and  glaring  at  Dr.  Lavendar, 
"  that  this  is  the  most  terrible  thing  that  ever 
happened." 

"  There  are  worse  things,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar. 

"  /  know  of  nothing  worse,"  Mrs.  Barkley 
said,  with  dreadful  composure.  "  You  may. 
You  know  what  the  unregenerate  human  heart 
may  do.  I  do  not.  This  is  the  worst.  What 
will  people  say?  What  will  Mrs.  Dale  say?  It 
must  be  stopped !  She  ran  in  this  morning  and 
told  me  in  confidence.  She  came,  she  said,  to 
know  if  she  could  borrow  my  teaspoons  next 
Thursday  week.  I  said  she  could,  of  course ;  but 
I  suppose  I  looked  puzzled ;  I  couldn't  imagine — 
then  she  confessed.  She  said  you  knew,  but  no 
one  else.  Then,  before  I  came  to  my  senses,  she 
ran  out.  I  came  here  at  once  to  say  that  you 
must  stop  it." 

175 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

"  In  the  first  place,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar, 
thrusting  his  hands  down  into  his  dressing-gown 
pockets,  "  I  couldn't  stop  it.  In  the  second 
place,  I  haven't  the  right  to  stop  it.  And  in  the 
third  place,  I  wouldn't  stop  it  if  I  could." 

"  Dr.  Lavendar !" 

"  I  am  delighted  with  the  plan.  We  need 
gayety  in  Old  Chester;  I  think  we'll  get  it.  I 
hope  she'll  have  Uncle  Davy  in,  with  his  fiddle, 
and  we'll  have  a  reel.  Mrs.  Barkley,  will  you  do 
me  the  honor?" 

It  came  over  Mrs.  Barkley,  with  a  sudden 
chill,  that  there  was  something  the  matter  with 
Dr.  Lavendar. 

"  I  have  calculated,"  said  the  old  minister, 
chuckling,  "  that  Miss  Lydia  has  in  hand,  at 
present,  about  $1.75  of  our  $100.  This  sum  I 
trust  she  will  give  to  Foreign  Missions.  The 
need  is  great.  I  shall  bring  it  to  her  attention." 

"  Dr.  Lavendar,"  said  Mrs.  Barkley ;  and 
paused. 

"Ma'am?" 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  sir." 

Dr.  Lavendar  looked  at  her  and  smiled. 


IV 


AND  so  the  night  of  Old  Chester's  festivity  ap 
proached.  Miss  Lydia's  invitations  were  de 
livered  the  morning  of  the  day,  but  a  rumor  of 
the  party  was  already  in  the  air.  There  had 
been  some  shakings  of  the  head  and  one  or  two 
frowns.  "It  will  cost  her  at  least  $3,"  said 
Martha  King,  "  and  she  could  get  a  new  bonnet 
with  that." 

"  It's  her  way  of  thanking  us  for  her  present," 
said  the  doctor,  "  and  a  mighty  nice  way,  too. 
I'm  going.  I'll  wear  my  white  waistcoat." 

Mrs.  Dray  ton  said,  calmly,  that  it  was  dis 
honest.  "  The  money  was  given  to  her  for  one 
purpose.  To  ask  people  to  tea,  and  have  even 
only  cake  and  lemonade,  is  spending  it  for  an 
other  purpose.  It  will  cost  her  at  least  $4.50. 
Not  a  large  sum,  compared  with  the  whole 
amount  donated  in  charity.  But  the  principle  is 
the  same.  I  always  look  for  the  principle — it  is 
a  Christian's  duty.  And  I  could  not  face  my 
Maker  if  I  ever  failed  in  duty." 
12  177 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

Then  Mrs.  Dale's  comment  ran  from  lip  to 
lip :  "  Miss  Lydia  has  a  right  to  do  as  she 
pleases  with  her  own ;  if  she  invites  me  to  tea,  I 
shall  go  with  pleasure." 

When  the  rumor  reached  William  Rives's  ears 
he  turned  pale,  but  he  made  no  comment.  "  But 
I  came  to  ask  you  about  it,  Lydy,"  he  said.  This 
was  Wednesday  evening,  and  William  stood  at 
the  front  door;  Miss  Lydia  was  on  the  step 
above  him.  "  I  won't  ask  you  to  come  in,  Will 
iam,"  she  said,  "  I'm  so  busy — if  you'll  excuse 
me." 

"  I  am  always  gratified,"  said  William,  "  when 
a  female  busies  herself  in  household  affairs,  so 
I  will  not  interrupt  you.  I  came  for  two  pur 
poses  :  first,  to  inquire  when  you  intend  to  be 
gin  the  improvements  upon  your  house;  and, 
secondly,  to  say  that  I  hope  I  am  in  error  in 
regard  to  this  project  of  a  supper  that  I  hear 
you  are  to  give." 

"Why?"  said  Lydia. 

"  Because,"  William  said,  with  his  sharp,  neat 
smile,  "  a  supper  is  not  given  without  expense. 
Though  I  approve  of  hospitality,  and  make  a 
point  of  accepting  it,  yet  I  am  always  conscious 
that  it  costs  money.  I  cannot  but  calculate,  as  I 
see  persons  eating  and  drinking,  the  amount  of 
178 


GRASSHOPPER   AND   THE   ANT 

money  thus  consumed,  and  I  often  wonder  at  my 
hosts.  I  say  to  myself,  as  I  observe  a  guest 
drink  a  cup  of  tea,  '  Two  cents.'  Such  thoughts 
(which  must  present  themselves  to  every  practi 
cal  man)  are  painful.  And  such  a  supper  as  I 
hear  you  mean  to  give  would  involve  many  cups 
of  tea." 

"  Twenty-seven,"  said  Miss  Lydia. 

"  And  is  there  to  be  cake  also  ?"  said  William, 
breathlessly. 

"  There  is,"  said  Miss  Lydia ;  "  a  big  one, 
with  a  castle  in  pink-and-white  icing  on  it — 
beautiful!" 

William  was  stricken  into  silence ;  then  he  said, 
shaking  his  head,  "  Do  you  really  mean  it, 
Lydy?" 

"  I  do,  William." 

Mr.  Rives  sighed. 

"Well,"  he  said— "well,  I  regret  it.  But, 
Lydy,  we  might  utilize  the  occasion?  Refresh 
ment  is  always  considered  genteel  at  a  marriage. 
Why  not  combine  your  supper  with  our  wed 
ding?  We  can  be  married  to-morrow  night. 
Dr.  Lavendar  is  coming,  I  presume?  I  can  get 
the  license  in  the  morning." 

Miss  Lydia  was  silent ;  the  color  came  into  her 
face,  and  she  put  her  hand  up  to  her  lips  in  a 
179 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

frightened  way.  "  Oh,  I — don't  know,"  she 
faltered.  "  I — I  am  not — not  ready — " 

"  Oh,"  William  urged,  "  never  mind  about 
being  ready ;  I  should  be  the  last  to  wish  you  to 
go  to  any  of  the  foolish  expense  of  dress  cus 
tomary  on  such  occasions.  Yes,  Lydy,  it  is  an 
opportunity.  Do  agree,  my  dear;  we  will  save 
money  by  it." 

Miss  Lydia  drew  in  her  breath ;  she  was  very 
pale ;  then  suddenly  she  nodded.  "  Well,  yes," 
she  said.  "  I  will,  if  you  want  to,  William.  Yes, 
I  will." 

"  I  will  communicate  with  Dr.  Lavendar," 
said  Mr.  Rives,  joyfully,  "  and  ask  him  to  hold 
himself  in  readiness,  but  not  to  speak  of  it  out 
side."  Miss  Lydia  nodded,  and,  closing  the  door, 
went  back  to  her  engrossing  affairs.  Presents 
and  a  party  and  a  wedding — no  wonder  the  poor 
little  soul  was  white  and  dizzy  with  excitement ! 

Long  will  Old  Chester  remember  that  occa 
sion :  The  little  house,  lighted  from  garret  to 
cellar ;  candles  in  every  possible  spot ;  flowers  all 
about;  the  mantel-piece  heaped  with  bundles; 
William  King's  bird-cage  hanging  in  the  win 
dow;  Uncle  Davy's  fiddle  twanging  in  the 
kitchen;  and  Miss  Lydia  in  front  of  the  smoky 
fireplace,  banked  now  with  larkspurs  and  peonies 
180 


GRASSHOPPER   AND    THE   ANT 

• — Miss  Lydia  in  a  light,  bright  blue  silk  dress 
trimmed  with  lace ;  Miss  Lydia  in  white  kid 
gloves,  buttoned  with  one  button  at  the  wrist, 
and  so  tight  that  the  right  glove  split  across 
the  back  when  she  began  to  shake  hands.  Oh,  it 
was  a  great  moment.  .  .  .  No  wonder  she  was 
pale  with  excitement !  .  .  .  She  was  very  pale 
when  William  Rives  arrived — arrived,  and  stood 
dumf ounded ! — staring  at  Miss  Lydia  ;  staring 
at  the  packages  which  were  now  finding  their 
way  into  astonished  hands ;  staring  at  the  re 
freshment  -  table  between  the  windows,  at  the 
great,  frosted  cake,  at  the  bottles  of  Catawba,  at 
Mrs.  Barkley's  spoons  stuck  into  tall  glasses  of 
wine  jelly-  Mr.  Rives  stood  staring  at  these 
things,  his  small  eyes  starting  out  upon  his 
purpling  cheeks,  and  as  he  stared,  Miss  Lydia, 
watching  him,  grew  paler  and  paler. 

Then,  suddenly,  William,  stealthily,  step  by 
step,  began  to  back  out  of  the  room.  In  the 
doorway  he  shouldered  Mrs.  Barkley,  and,  wheel 
ing,  turned  upon  her  a  ferocious  face : 

"  And  I  contributed  $1.50—" 

But  as  he  retreated  and  retreated,  the  color  re 
turned  to  Miss  Lydia's  cheek.  She  had  almost 
stopped  breathing  as  he  stood  there ;  but  when  he 
finally  disappeared,  she  broke  out  into  the  full 
181 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

joyousness  of  the  occasion.  The  opening  of  each 
present  was  like  a  draught  of  wine  to  her,  the 
astounded  or  angry  thanks  went  to  her  head; 
she  rubbed  her  hands  until  the  left  glove  split 
also  ;  and  then  Uncle  Davy's  fiddle  began  in  good 
earnest,  and  she  bustled  about,  running  and 
laughing,  and  arranging  partners  for  the  reel. 

Yes,  it  was  a  great  occasion.  Old  Chester 
talked  of  it  for  months ;  not  even  William  Rives's 
most  unexpected  and  unexplainable  departure 
the  next  day  on  the  morning  stage  could  divert 
the  appalled,  excited,  disapproving  interest  that 
lasted  the  year  out.  Not  even  Miss  Lydia's  con 
tinued  faithfulness  to  the  portrait,  which  had 
condoned  so  many  offences  in  the  past,  could 
soften  Old  Chester's  very  righteous  indignation. 
There  were,  it  must  be  admitted,  one  or  two  who 
professed  that  they  did  not  share  the  disapproval 
of  all  right-thinking  persons ;  one  was,  if  you 
please,  Mr.  Smith!  (He  was  one  of  the  new 
Smiths,  so  one  might  expect  anything  from 
him. )  He  had  not  been  invited  to  the  party,  but 
when  he  heard  of  it  he  roared  with  most  improper 
mirth. 

"  Well  done !"  he  said.  "  By  Jove !  what  a 
game  old  party.  Well  done!  The  money  was 
champagne  on  an  empty  stomach ;  of  course,  she 
182 


MISS    LYDIA,    WATCHING    HIM,    GREW    PALER    AND 
PALER  " 


GRASSHOPPER   AND    THE   ANT 

got  drunk.  It  would  have  been  cheaper  to  have 
bought  a  bottle  of  the  genuine  article  and  shut 
herself  up  for  twenty-four  hours.  Well,  it's 
worth  the  cost  of  a  new  chimney.  I'll  put  her 
repairs  through,  Dr.  Lavendar  —  unless  you 
want  to  get  up  another  present?"  And  then  he 
roared  again.  Very  ill-bred  man  he  was. 

Dr.  Lavendar  said  that  there  would  not  be 
another  present.  He  said  Miss  Lydia  had  a 
right,  in  his  opinion,  to  spend  her  money  as  she 
chose ;  but  there  would  not  be  another  present. 

And  then  he  walked  home,  blinking  and  smil 
ing.  "  Smith's  a  good  fellow,"  he  said  to  him 
self,  "  if  he  is  one  of  the  new  folks.  But  what 
I'd  like  to  know  is:  did  Lydia  think  $100  a  low 
price?" 

13 


AMELIA 


AMELIA 


THE  exception  that  proved  Old  Chester's  rule  as 
to  the  subjection  of  Youth  was  found  in  the 
household  of  Mr.  Thomas  Dilworth. 

When  the  Dilworth  children  (at  least  the  two 
girls)  hung  about  their  father  when  he  came 
home  at  night  or  teased  and  scolded  and  laughed 
at  him  at  their  friendly  breakfast-table,  an  ob 
server  might  have  thought  himself  miles  away 
from  Old  Chester  and  its  well-brought-up  Youth. 
The  way  those  girls  talk  to  Thomas  Dilworth! 
"  Where  will  it  end?"  said  Old  Chester,  solemnly. 
For  instance,  the  annual  joke  in  the  Dilworth 
family  was  that  father  had  been  in  love  with 
mother  for  as  many  years  as  she  was  old,  less  so 
many  minutes. 

Now,  imagine  Old  Chester  children  indulging 
in  such  familiarities ! 

187 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

Yet  on  Mrs.  Dil worth's  birthday  this  family 
witticism  was  always  in  order: 

"  Father,  how  long  have  you  been  mother's 
beau?" 

And  Thomas,  rosy,  handsome,  looking  at  least 
ten  years  younger  than  his  Amelia,  would  say: 
"Well,  let's  see:  forty-one  years"  (or  two  or 
three,  as  the  case  might  be),  "  eleven  months, 
twenty-nine  days,  twenty-three  hours,  and  forty 
minutes ;  she  was  twenty  minutes  old  when  I  first 
laid  eyes  on  her,  and  during  those  twenty  minutes 
I  was  heart-whole." 

But  Mrs.  Dilworth,  smiling  vaguely  behind 
her  coffee-cups,  would  protest :  "  I  never  heard 
anything  about  it,  Tom,  until  you  were  six 
teen." 

And  then  the  girls  would  declare  that 
they  must  be  told  just  what  father  said  when 
he  was  sixteen  and  mother  was  twelve.  But 
Thomas  drew  the  line  at  that.  "  Come !  come ! 
you  mustn't  talk  about  love-making.  As  for 
marrying,  I  don't  mean  to  let  you  girls 
get  married  at  all.  And  Ned  here  had  better 
not  let  me  catch  him  thinking  of  such  non 
sense  until  he's  twenty-five.  He  can  get  mar 
ried  (if  I  like  the  girl)  when  he  is  twenty- 
eight." 

188 


AMELIA 

"  You  got  married  at  twenty-two,  sir,"  Edwin 
demurred. 

"  If  you  can  find  a  woman  like  your  mother, 
you  can  get  married  at  twenty-two.  But  you 
can't.  They  don't  make  'em  any  more.  So 
you've  got  to  wait.  And  remember,  I've  decided 
not  to  let  Mary  and  Nancy  get  married,  ever. 
I  don't  propose  to  bring  up  a  brace  of  long- 
legged  girls,  and  clothe  'em  and  feed  'em  and 
pay  their  doctors'  bills,  and  then,  just  as  they 
get  old  enough  to  amount  to  anything  and  quit 
being  nuisances,  hand  'em  over  to  another  fellow. 
No,  sir!  You've  got  to  stay  at  home  with  me. 
Do  you  understand?" 

The  girls  screamed  at  this,  and  flung  them 
selves  upon  him  to  kiss  him  and  pull  his  hair. 

No  wonder  Old  Chester  was  shocked. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  such  happenings,  Thomas  and 
Amelia  Dilworth  were  of  the  real  Old  Chester. 
They  were  not  tainted  with  newness — that  sad 
dispensation  of  Providence  which  had  to  be  borne 
by  such  people  as  the  Macks  or  the  Hayeses, 
or  those  very  rich  (but  really  worthy)  Smiths. 
The  Dilworths  were  not  new;  yet  their  three 
children  had  the  training — or  the  lack  of  train 
ing — that  made  the  Hayes  children  and  their 
kind  a  subject  for  Old  Chester's  prayers. 
189 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

"  Who  can  say  what  the  result  of  Milly  Dil- 
worth's  negligence  will  be?"  Mrs.  Drayton  said* 
sighing,  to  Dr.  Lavendar;  who  only  reminded 
her  that  folks  didn't  gather  thistles  of  figs — 
generally  speaking. 

But  in  spite  of  Dr.  Lavendar's  optimism,  it 
was  a  queer  household,  according  to  Old  Chester 
lights.  ...  In  the  first  place,  the  father  and 
mother  were  more  unlike  than  is  generally  con 
sidered  to  be  matrimonially  safe.  Amelia  was  a 
dear,  good  soul,  but,  as  Miss  Helen  Hayes  said 
once,  "  with  absolutely  no  mind  " ;  while  Thomas 
Dilworth  was  eminently  level-headed,  although 
very  fond  (so  Mrs.  Drayton  said)  of  female 
society.  And  it  must  be  admitted  that  Thomas 
had  more  than  once  caused  his  Milly  a  slight 
pang  by  such  fondness.  But  at  least  he  was 
never  conscious  that  he  had  done  so — and  Milly 
never  told  him.  (But  Mrs.  Drayton  said  that 
that  was  something  she  could  not  forgive  in  a 
married  gentleman.  "  My  dear  husband,"  said 
Mrs.  Drayton,  "  has  never  wandered  from  me, 
even  in  Imagination.")  Added  to  conjugal  in 
congruity  was  this  indifference  on  the  part  of 
Thomas  and  his  wife  to  the  training  of  the 
children.  The  three  young  Dil worths  were  al 
lowed  to  grow  up  exactly  as  they  pleased.  It 
190 


AMELIA 

had  worked  well  enough  with  Mary  and  Nancy, 
who  were  good  girls,  affectionate  and  sensible — 
so  sensible  that  Nancy,  when  she  was  eighteen, 
had  practically  taken  the  housekeeping  out  of 
her  mother's  hands ;  and  Mary,  at  sixteen,  look 
ed  out  for  herself  and  her  affairs  most  success 
fully.  With  Edwin  the  Dilworth  system  had  not 
been  so  satisfactory.  He  was  conceited  (though 
that  is  only  to  be  expected  of  the  male  creature 
at  nineteen)  and  rather  selfish;  and  he  had  an 
unlovely  reserve,  in  which  he  was  strikingly  un 
like  his  father,  who  overflowed  with  confidences. 
This,  and  other  unlikeness,  was,  no  doubt,  the 
reason  that  there  were  constant  small  differences 
between  them.  And  Mrs.  Dilworth  —  vague, 
gentle  soul ! — was  somehow  unable  to  smooth  the 
differences  over  as  successfully  as  most  mothers 
do. 

Now,  smoothing  things  over  is  practically  a 
profession  to  mothers  of  families.  But  Milly 
Dilworth  had  never  succeeded  in  it.  In  the  first 
place,  she  had  no  gift  of  words;  the  more  she 
felt,  the  more  inexpressive  she  became ;  but,  worst 
of  all,  she  had,  poor  woman,  not  the  slightest 
sense  of  humor.  Now,  in  dealing  with  husbands 
and  children  (especially  with  husbands),  though 
you  have  the  tongues  of  men — which  are  thought 
191 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

to  be  more  restrained  than  those  of  women — and 
though  you  have  the  gift  of  prophecy  (a  com 
mon  gift  of  wives)  and  understand  all  mysteries 
— say,  of  housekeeping — and  though  you  give 
your  body  to  be  used  up  and  worn  out  for  their 
sakes,  yet  all  these  things  profit  you  nothing 
if  you  have  no  sense  of  humor.  And  Milly  Dil- 
worth  had  none. 

That  was  why  she  could  not  understand. 

She  loved,  in  her  tender,  undemonstrative  way, 
her  shy,  unpractical,  secretive  Edwin  and  her 
two  capable  girls;  she  loved,  with  the  single, 
silent  passion  of  her  soul,  her  generous,  selfish, 
light-hearted  Tom,  who  took  her  wordless  wor 
ship  as  unconsciously  and  simply  as  he  took  the 
air  he  breathed ;  she  loved  them  all.  But  she 
did  not  pretend  to  understand  them.  Thus 
she  stood  always  a  little  aside,  watching  and 
loving,  and  wondering  sometimes  in  her  sim 
ple  way ;  but  often  suffering,  as  people  with 
no  sense  of  humor  are  apt  to  suffer.  Dear, 
dull,  gentle  Milly !  No  one  could  remember  a 
harsh  word  of  hers,  or  mean  deed,  or  a  little 
judgment.  No  wonder  Dr.  Lavendar  felt 
confident  that  there  would  be  no  thistles  in  her 
household. 

Thomas  Dilworth  had  the  same  comfortable 
192 


AMELIA 

conviction,  especially  in  regard  to  his  girls. 
"  Now,  Milly,  honestly,"  he  used  to  say,  "  apart 
from  the  fact  that  they  are  ours,  don't  you  real 
ly  think  they  are  the  nicest  girls  in  Old  Ches 
ter?" 

Milly  would  admit,  in  her  brief  way,  that  they 
were  good  children. 

"And  Edwin  means  all  right,"  the  father 
would  assure  himself;  and  then  add  that  he 
couldn't  understand  their  boy — "  at  least,  I  sup 
pose  he's  ours?  Willy  King  says  so.  I  have 
thought  perhaps  he  was  a  changeling,  put  into 
the  cradle  the  first  day." 

"  But,  Tom,"  Milly  would  protest,  anxiously, 
"  Neddy  couldn't  be  a  changeling.  He  was 
never  out  of  my  sight  for  the  first  week — not 
even  to  be  taken  out  of  the  room  to  be  shown 
to  people.  Besides,  he  has  your  chin  and  my 
eyes." 

"  Well,  if  you  really  think  so?"  Thomas  would 
demur.  And  Mrs.  Dilworth  always  said,  earnest 
ly,  that  she  was  sure  of  it. 

Still,  in  spite  of  eyes  and  chin,  Ned's  un- 
practicalness  was  an  anxiety  to  his  father,  and 
his  uncommunicativeness  a  constant  irritation. 
Thomas  himself  was  ready  to  share  anything  he 
possessed,  money  or  opinions  or  hopes,  with  any 
is  193 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

friend,  almost  with  any  acquaintance.  "  I  don't 
want  to  know  anybody's  business,"  he  used  to 
say ;  "  I'm  not  inquisitive,  Milly ;  you  know  I'm 
not.  But  I  hate  hiding  things !  Why  shouldn't 
he  say  where  he's  going  when  he  goes  out  in 
the  evening?  Sneaking  off,  as  if  he  were 
ashamed." 

"He  just  doesn't  think  of  it,"  the  mother 
would  say,  trying  to  smooth  it  over. 

"  Well,  he  ought  to  think  of  it,"  the  father 
would  grumble,  eager  to  be  smoothed. 

But  Milly  found  it  harder  to  reconcile  her 
husband  to  their  boy's  indifference  to  business 
than  to  his  reserves. 

"  He  sees  fit  to  look  down  on  the  hardware 
trade,"  Tom  told  his  wife,  angrily.  "'Well, 
sir,'  I  said  to  him  the  other  day,  '  it's  given  you 
your  bread-and-butter  for  nineteen  years ;  yes — 
and  your  fiddle,  too,  and  your  everlasting  music 
lessons.'  And  I'll  tell  you  what,  Milly,  a  man 
who  looks  down  on  his  business  will  find  his 
business  looking  down  on  him.  And  it's  a  good 
business — it's  a  darned  good  business.  If  Ned 
doesn't  have  the  sense  to  see  it,  he  had  better  go 
and  play  his  fiddle  and  hold  out  his  hat  for 
pennies." 

Milly  looked  anxiously  sympathetic. 
194 


AMELIA 

"  I  don't  know  what  is  going  to  become  of 
him,"  Thomas  went  on.  "  When  you  come  to 
provide  for  three  out  of  the  hardware  business, 
nobody  gets  very  much." 

Mrs.  Dilworth  was  silent. 

"  I  was  talking  about  him  to  Dr.  Lavendar 
yesterday,  and  he  said :  c  Oh,  he'll  fall  in  love 
one  of  these  days,  and  he'll  see  that  fiddling 
won't  buy  his  wife  her  shoe-strings;  then  he'll 
take  to  the  hardware  business,'  Dr.  Lavendar 
said.  It's  all  very  well  to  talk  about  his  falling 
in  love  and  taking  to  business ;  but  if  he  falls  in 
love,  I'll  have  another  mouth  to  fill.  And  maybe 
more,"  he  added,  grimly. 

"  Not  for  a  year,  anyway,"  his  wife  said, 
hopefully.  "  And,  besides,  I  don't  think  Neddy's 
thinking  of  such  a  thing." 

"  I  hope  not,  at  his  age." 

"  You  were  engaged  when  you  were  nine 
teen." 

"  My  dear,  I  wasn't  Ned." 

Mrs.  Dilworth  was  silent. 

"  The  Packards  telegraphed  to-day  that  they 
wouldn't  take  that  reaper,"  Tom  Dilworth  said. 

Milly  seemed  to  search  for  words  of  sympathy, 
but  before  she  found  them  Tom  began  to  talk  of 
something  else ;  he  never  waited  for  his  wife's  re- 
195 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

plies,  or,  indeed,  expected  them.  He  was  so  con 
stituted  that  he  had  to  have  a  listener;  and  dur 
ing  all  their  married  life  she  had  listened.  When 
she  replied,  she  was  a  sounding-board,  echoing 
back  his  own  opinions ;  when  she  was  silent,  he 
took  her  silence  to  mean  agreement.  Tom  used 
to  say  that  his  Milly  wasn't  one  of  the  smart 
kind ;  he  didn't  like  smartness  in  a  woman,  any 
way;  but  she  had  darned  good  sense; — for,  like 
the  rest  of  us,  Thomas  Dilworth  had  a  deep 
belief  in  the  intelligence  of  the  people  who 
agreed  with  him.  .  .  . 

"  I  have  a  great  mind,"  he  rambled  on,  "  to 
go  up  to  the  Hayeses'.  You  know  that  note  is 
due  on  the  15th,  and  I  believe  I'll  have  to  ask 
him  to  extend  it.  I  hate  to  do  it,  but  Packard 
has  upset  my  calculations,  and  I'll  have  to  get 
an  extension,  or  else  sell  something  out;  and  just 
now  I  don't  like  to  do  that." 

"  Very  well,"  she  said.  It  was  her  birthday — 
the  one  day  in  the  year  that  her  Thomas  remem 
bered  that  he  had  been  in  love  with  her  for  so 
many  years,  months,  days,  hours,  minutes — a 
fact  she  never  for  one  day  in  the  year  forgot. 
But  she  could  no  more  have  reminded  him  of  the 
day  than  she  could  have  flown.  She  was  consti 
tutionally  inexpressive. 

196 


AMELIA 

Tom  began  to  whistle: 


5 


i 


but  broke  off  to  say,  "  Well,  since  you  advise 
it,  I'll  see  Hayes  " ;  then  he  gave  her  a  kiss,  and 
immediately  forgot  her — as  completely  as  he  had 
forgotten  his  supper  or  any  other  comfortable 
and  absolutely  necessary  thing.  Then  he  lighted 
his  cigar  and  started  for  the  Hayeses'. 


II 


"  AND  who  do  you  suppose  I  found  there  ?"  he 
said,  when  he  got  home,  well  on  towards  eleven 
o'clock,  an  hour  so  dissipated  for  Old  Chester 
that  Milly  was  broad  awake  in  silent  anxiety. 
"  Why,  Ned,  if  you  please !  He  was  talking  to 
Hayes's  daughter  Helen.  She  seems  a  mighty 
nice  girl,  Milly.  I  packed  young  Edwin  off  at 
nine ;  he  was  boring  Miss  Helen  to  death.  Boys 
have  no  sense  about  such  things.  Can't  you  give 
him  a  hint  that  women  of  twenty-five  don't  care 
for  little  boys'  talk?  By-the-way,  she  talks 
mighty  well  herself.  After  I  settled  my  business 
with  Hayes,  we  got  to  discussing  the  President's 
letter;  she  had  just  read  it." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  President  has 
written  to  Helen  Hayes?"  cried  Mrs.  Dilworth, 
sitting  up  in  bed  in  her  astonishment. 

Thomas  roared,  and  began  to  pull  his  boots. 
"  Why,  they  are  regular  correspondents ! 
Didn't  you  know  it?" 

198 


AMELIA 

"  No  !  I  hadn't  the  slightest  idea  —  Tom, 
you're  joking?" 

"  My  dear,  you  can't  think  I  am  capable  of 
joking?  But,  Milly,  look  here,  I'll  tell  you  one 
thing:  she  was  mighty  sensible  about  Ned. 
She  thinks  there's  a  good  deal  to  him — 

"  I  don't  need  Helen  Hayes  to  tell  me  that," 
said  Ned's  mother. 

Tom,  who  never  paused  for  his  wife's  reply, 
was  whistling  joyfully: 


Helen  Hayes  had  been  very  comforting  to 
him ;  he  had  protested,  when  Ned  reluctantly  de 
parted,  that  a  boy  never  knew  when  to  clear  out ; 
and  Miss  Helen  had  pouted,  and  said  Ned 
shouldn't  be  scolded ;  "  I  wouldn't  let  him  '  clear 
out ' — so  there !"  Few  women  of  thirty-two  can 
be  cunning  successfully,  but  Tom  thought  Miss 
'4  199 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

Helen  very  cunning.     "  I  just  perfectly  love  to 
hear  him  talk  about  his  music,"  she  said. 

"  He  can't  talk  about  anything  else,"  Ned's 
father  said.     "  That's  the  trouble  with  him." 

"The  trouble  with  him?  Why,  that's  the 
beauty  of  him,"  said  Miss  Hayes,  with  en 
thusiasm;  and  Thomas  said  to  himself  that  she 
was  a  mighty  good-looking  girl.  The  rose- 
colored  lamp-shade  cast  a  soft  light  on  a  face 
that  was  not  quite  so  young  as  was  the  frock  she 
wore  —  rose-colored  also,  with  much  yellowish 
lace  down  the  front.  It  was  very  unlike  Milly's 
dresses — dark,  good  woollens,  made  rather  tight, 
for  Milly,  short  and  stout  and  forty-three, 
aspired  (for  her  Thomas's  sake)  to  a  figure,— 
which  is  always  a  pity  at  forty -three.  Further 
more,  Helen  Hayes's  hands,  very  white  and 
heavy  with  shining  rings,  lay  in  lovely  idleness 
in  her  lap;  and  that  is  so  much  more  restful  in 
a  woman's  hands  than  to  be  fussing  with  sewing 
"  or  everlasting  darning,"  Thomas  thought. 
In  fact,  what  with  her  lovely  idleness  and  her 
praise  of  his  boy,  Tom  Dilworth  thought  he 
had  rarely  seen  so  pleasing  a  young  woman. 
"  Though  she's  not  so  very  young,  after  all ; 
she  must  be  twenty-five,"  he  told  his  wife. 

"  She'll  never  see  thirty  again." 
200 


AMELIA 

"  Well,  she's  a  mighty  nice  girl,"  Thomas 
said. 

Except  to  look  pretty,  Miss  Helen  Hayes  had 
done  nothing  to  produce  this  impression,  for  she 
had  contradicted  Mr.  Dilworth  up  and  down 
about  Ned. 

"  He  has  genius,  you  know." 

"  You  mean  his  fiddle  ?"  Tom  said,  incredu 
lously. 

"  I  mean  his  music.  We'll  hear  of  him  one 
of  these  days." 

"  I  don't  care  much  whether  we  ever  hear 
from  his  music,"  he  said,  "  but  I  wish  I  could 
hear  that  he  was  applying  himself  to  business." 

"  Business !"  cried  Helen  Hayes.  "  What  is 
business  compared  to  Art?" 

Thomas  looked  over  at  Mr.  Hayes  in  astonish 
ment,  for  in  those  days,  in  Old  Chester,  this  par 
ticular  sort  of  talk  had  not  been  heard ;  the  older 
man  sneered  and  changed  his  cigar  from  one 
corner  of  his  mouth  to  the  other.  Miss  Hayes 
did  not  get  much  sympathy  from  her  family. 
But  she  went  on  with  pretty  dogmatism : 
'  You  see,  in  a  man  like  your  son — " 

"  A  man !  He's  only  twenty,  my  dear  young 
lady." 

"  In  a  man,  sir !  like  your  son — genius  is  the 
201 


DR.   LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

thing  to  consider;  and  you  owe  it  to  the  world 
to  let  genius  have  its  fullest  play.  Don't  bring 
Pegasus  down  to  plough  Old  Chester  cornfields. 
Why,  it  seems  to  me,"  said  Helen  Hayes,  "  that 
he  ought  to  be  allowed  to  just  soar.  We  common 
folk  ought  to  do  the  ploughing." 

"  Thunder  an'  guns !"  said  Tom  Dilworth. 

"  I  don't  care  if  he  can't  be  sure  that  two  and 
two  make  four,"  cried  Miss  Helen  (Thomas, 
bubbling  into  aggrieved  confidence  on  this  sore 
subject,  had  alleged  this  against  his  son)  ;  "  he 
can  put  four  notes  together  that  open  the  gates 
of  heaven.  And  he'll  distinguish  himself  in 
music,  because  his  father's  son  is  bound  to  have 
tremendous  perseverance  and  energy." 

Old  Mr.  Hayes  snorted  and  spat  into  the  fire ; 
but  Miss  Helen's  look  when  she  said  "  his  father's 
son  "  made  Mr.  Thomas  Dilworth  simper. 

"  That  girl  has  sense,"  he  said  to  himself  as 
he  walked  home  at  a  quarter  to  eleven.  But  he 
only  told  Mrs.  Dilworth  that  she  had  better  hint 
to  Ned  to  be  a  little  more  backward  in  coming 
forward.  "  That  Hayes  girl  is  nice  to  him  on 
our  account,"  said  Tom,  "  but  he  needn't  bore 
her  to  death.  Milly,  why  don't  you  have  one  of 
those  pink  wrappers?  She  had  one  on  to-night. 
Loose,  you  know,  and  trimmed  down  the  front." 
202 


AMELIA 

"  A  wrapper  isn't  very  suitable  for  company," 
Mrs.  Dilworth  said,  briefly.  "  It  didn't  matter 
with  you,  because  you're  an  old  married  man; 
but  she  oughtn't  to  go  round  in  wrappers  when 
Neddy's  there." 

"  Why,  it  was  a  sort  of  party  dress — all  lace 
and  stuff.  I  wish  you  had  one  like  it.  As  for 
Ned,  he's  a  babe;  and  her  wrapper  thing  was 
perfectly  proper,  of  course.  Can't  you  ask  her 
for  the  pattern  ?" 

And  then  Thomas  went  to  sleep  and  dreamed 
of  a  large  order  for  galvanized  buckets ;  but  his 
Milly  lay  awake  a  long  time,  wondering  how  she 
could  get  a  pink  dress;  pleased,  in  her  silent 
way,  that  Tom  should  be  thinking  about  her 
clothes ;  but  with  a  slow  resentment  gathering  in 
her  heart  that  Helen  Hayes's  clothes  should  have 
suggested  his  thought. 

"  And  pink  isn't  my  color,"  she  thought,  a 
vision  of  her  own  mild,  red  face  rising  in  her 
mind.  Still,  a  fresh  pink  lawn — "  that's  always 
pretty,"  Milly  Dilworth  said  to  herself,  ear 
nestly. 


Ill 


TOM  DILWORTH'S  boy  was  a  curious  sport  from 
the  family  stock.  He  did,  indeed,  look  down  on 
the  hardware  business,  but  not  much  more  than 
on  any  business,  although  galvanized  utensils 
were  perhaps  a  little  more  hideous  than  most 
things.  Business  in  itself  did  not  interest  him. 
Money-making  was  sordid  folly,  he  said;  be 
cause,  "  What  do  you  want  money  for?  Isn't 
it  to  buy  food  and  clothes  and  shelter?  Well, 
you  can't  eat  more  food  than  enough ;  you  can 
only  wear  one  suit  of  clothes  at  a  time;  and  an 
eight-foot  cell  is  all  the  shelter  that  is  neces 
sary." 

"  Eight  -  foot  —  grandmother  !"  his  father 
would  retort ;  "  you'll  inventory  that  lot  of 
spades,  young  man,  and  dry  up." 

And  Ned,  with  shrinking  hands  and  ears  that 
shuddered  at  the  hideous  screech  of  scraping 
shovels,  would  make  out  his  inventory  with  loath 
ing.  His  mother  was  not  impatient  or  con 
temptuous  with  him — she  could  not  have  been 
204 


AMELIA 

that  to  any  one ;  she  simply  could  not  understand 
what  he  meant  when  he  spouted  upon  the  folly 
of  wealth  (for,  like  most  shy  people,  he  occa 
sionally  burst  into  orations  upon  his  theories), 
or  when  he  set  off  some  fireworks  of  scepticism 
borrowed  from  Mr.  Ezra  Barkley,  or  undertook 
(when  Thomas  was  not  present)  to  prove  his 
father's  politics  entirely  wrong.  On  such  occa 
sions  Nancy  would  say,  "  Oh,  Ned,  do  be  quiet !" 
and  Mary  would  yawn  openly.  As  for  his  music, 
nobody  cared  about  it,  except,  perhaps,  his 
mother.  "  But  I  must  say,  Neddy,  I  like  a 
tune,"  she  would  say,  mildly,  after  Edwin  had 
tucked  his  violin  under  his  chin  and  poured  out 
all  his  young  soul  in  what  was  a  true  and  simple 
passion. 

"  A  tune !"  poor  Ned  said,  and  groaned. 
"  Mother,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  call  me  that 
ridiculous  name." 

"  I'll  try  not  to,  Neddy,  dear,"  she  would 
promise,  anxiously ;  and  Ned  would  groan 
again. 

With  such  a  family  circle,  one  can  fancy  what 
it  was  to  the  lad  when  quite  by  accident  he  found 
a  friend.  It  was  the  summer  that  he  was  twenty, 
that  once,  coming  back  in  the  stage  with  him 
from  Mercer,  Miss  Helen  Hayes  showed  a  keen 
205 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

interest  in  something  he  said;  then  she  asked  a 
question  or  two;  and  when,  hesitating,  waiting 
for  the  laugh  which  did  not  come,  he  began  to 
talk,  she  listened.  Oh,  the  joy  of  finding  a 
listener!  She  looked  at  him,  as  they  sat  on  the 
slippery  leather  seat  of  the  old  stage,  with  soft, 
intelligent  eyes,  her  slightly  faded  prettiness 
giving  a  touch  of  charm  to  the  high  and  flatter 
ing  gravity  of  her  manner.  When  she  asked 
him  to  bring  his  violin  sometime  and  play  to  her, 
the  boy  could  almost  have  wept  with  joy.  He 
made  haste  to  work  off  several  of  his  dearest  and 
most  shocking  phrases,  which  she  took  with  deep 
seriousness :  A  whale's  throat  is  not  large  enough 
to  swallow  a  man — therefore  the  Biblical  account 
is  false,  etc.,  etc.  "  In  fact,"  said  Ned,  "  if  I 
could  have  a  half -hour's  straight  conversation 
with  Dr.  Lavendar,  I  could  prove  to  him  the 
falsity  of  most  of  the  Old  Testament." 

Helen  Hayes  was  shocked ;  she  regretted  Mr. 
Dilworth's  scepticism  with  almost  tearful 
warmth;  yet  she  realized  that  a  powerful  mind 
must  search  for  truth,  above  all.  She  wished, 
however,  that  he  would  read  such  and  such  a 
book.  "  I  can't  argue  with  you  myself,"  she 
said — "  you  are  far  too  clever  for  my  poor  little 
reasoning  powers." 

206 


AMELIA 

It  was  in  April  that  Edwin  entered  into  this 
experience  of  feminine  sympathy ;  and  by  mid 
summer,  at  the  time  when  Mr.  Thomas  Dilworth 
also  found  Miss  Helen  Hayes  so  remarkably  in 
telligent,  the  boy  was  absorbed  in  his  new  emo 
tion  of  friendship.  He  never  spoke  of  it  at 
home,  hence  his  father's  astonishment  at  finding 
him  at  the  Hayeses'.  And  when,  a  week  later,  he 
found  him  a  second  time,  Tom  Dilworth  was 
much  perplexed. 

"  I  dropped  in  on  my  way  back  from  the 
store,"  he  told  his  wife,  "  and  there  was  that 
boy.  I  said  to  Miss  Helen  that  she  really  must 
not  let  him  bother  her.  I  told  her  he  was  a 
blatherskite,  and  she  must  just  tell  him  to  dry  up 
if  he  talked  too  much." 

"  Tom,  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  talk  that 
way  about  Neddy,"  Mrs.  Dilworth  said.  "  He's 
a  dear  boy." 

"  He  may  be  a  dear  boy,  but  he  is  a  great 
donkey,"  Ned's  father  said,  dryly ;  "  and  I  think 
it  is  very  good  in  Helen  Hayes  to  put  up  with 
him.  I  can  see  she  does  it  on  my  account. 
Milly,  why  don't  you  ask  her  to  come  to  supper, 
sometime?  I  like  to  talk  to  her ;  she's  got  brains, 
that  girl.  And  she's  good-looking,  too.  Ask 
her  to  tea,  and  have  waffles  and  fried  chicken, 
207 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

and  some  of  that  fluffy  pink  stuff  the  children 
are  so  fond  of,  for  dessert." 

"  She's  not  much  of  a  child,"  said  Mrs.  Dil- 
worth,  her  face  growing  slowly  red.  "  She's 
thirty-two  if  she's  a  day." 

"  My  dear,  she  has  aged  rapidly ;  you  said 
thirty  a  month  ago.  I  like  the  pink  stuff  my 
self,  and  I'm  nearly  fifty.  I  bet  the  Hayeses 
don't  have  anything  better  at  their  house." 

Milly  softened  at  that.  Where  is  the  middle- 
aged  housekeeper  who  does  not  soften  at  being 
told  that  her  pink  stuff  is  better  than  anything 
the  Hayeses  can  produce?  Yet  Tom's  talk  of 
Miss  Helen's  brains  pierced  through  her  vague 
ness  and  bit  into  her  heart  and  mind ;  and  she 
could  not  forget  that  he  had  called  the  girl 
good-looking.  "  Girl !"  said  Mrs.  Dilworth.  She 
was  standing  before  the  small  swinging  glass  on 
her  high  bureau,  looking  at  herself  critically; 
then  she  slipped  back  and  locked  her  door;  then 
took  a  hand-glass  and  stood  sidewise  to  look 
again.  Her  hair  was  drawn  tightly  from  her 
temples  and  twisted  into  a  hard  knot  at  the  back 
of  her  head ;  she  remembered  that  the  Hayes  girl 
wore  high  rats,  which  were  very  fashionable,  and 
had  a  large  curl  at  one  side  of  her  waterfall. 
"  But  it's  pinned  on,"  Milly  said  to  herself ; 
208 


AMELIA 

"  anyway,  mine's  my  own."  Then  she  pulled 
her  cap  farther  forward  (in  those  days  mothers 
of  families  began  to  wear  caps  when  they  were 
thirty)  and  looked  in  the  glass  again:  Helen 
Hayes  did  not  have  a  double  chin.  "  She's  a 
skinny  thing,"  Milly  said  to  herself.  Yet  she 
knew,  bitterly,  that  she  would  rather  be  skinny 
than  see  those  cruel  lines,  like  gathers  on  a  draw 
ing-string,  puckering  the  once  round  neck  below 
the  chin.  And  her  forehead:  she  wondered 
whether  if,  every  day,  she  stroked  it  forty-two 
times,  she  could  smooth  out  the  wrinkles? — those 
wrinkles  that  stood  for  the  tender  and  anxious 
thought  of  all  her  married  life !  She  had  heard 
of  getting  rid  of  wrinkles  in  that  way.  "  It 
would  take  a  good  deal  of  time,"  she  thought, 
doubtfully.  Still,  she  might  try  it — with  the 
door  locked.  These  reflections  did  not,  however, 
interfere  with  the  invitation  which  Thomas  had 
suggested. 

Milly  had  her  opinion  of  a  middle-aged  woman 
who  wore  wrappers  in  public ;  but  if  Tom  want 
ed  her  and  her  wrappers,  he  should  have  them. 
He  should  have  anything  in  the  world  he  desired, 
if  she  could  procure  it.  Had  he  desired  Miss 
Hayes  hashed  on  toast,  Milly  would  have  done 
her  best  to  set  the  dainty  dish  before  her  king. 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

And  no  doubt  poor  Miss  Helen  in  this  form 
would  have  given  Mrs.  Dilworth  more  personal 
satisfaction  than  did  her  presence  at  Tom's  side 
(for  the  invitation  was  promptly  accepted)  in 
some  trailing  white  thing,  her  eyes  fixed  on  her 
host's  face,  intent,  apparently,  upon  any  word 
he  might  utter.  Watching  that  absorbed  and 
flattering  gaze,  Milly  grew  more  and  more 
silent.  She  heard  their  eager  talk,  and  her  mild 
eyes  grew  round  and  full  of  pain  with  the  sense 
of  being  left  out;  for  Miss  Hayes,  though 
patient  with  her  hostess,  and  even  kind  in  a 
condescending  way,  hardly  spoke  to  her.  Once 
when,  her  heart  up  in  her  throat,  Mrs.  Dilworth 
ventured  a  comment,  it  seemed  only  to  amuse 
Thomas  and  his  guest — and  she  did  not  know 
why. 

"  This  morning,"  Tom  said,  "  I  was  h'isting 
up  a  big  bunch  of  galvani/cd  buckets  to  our  loft 
with  a  fall  and  tackle,  and  all  of  a  sudden  the 
strap  slipped,  and  the  whole  caboodle  just 
whanged  down  on  the  pavement — 

"  O-o-o-o !"  said  Helen  Hayes,  putting  her 
hands  over  her  ears  with  dramatic  girlishness. 

"  It  was  terrific,  and  just  at  that  moment  up 
came  Dr.  Lavcndar.  Well,  of  course  I  couldn't 
express  my  feelings — 

210 


AMELIA 

"Poor  Mr.  Dilworth!" 

"  — he  came  up,  and  gave  me  a  rap  with  his 
stick.  '  Thomas,'  he  said  (you  know  how  his 
eyes  twinkle!) — '  Thomas,  this  is  the  most  pro 
fane  silence  I  ever  heard.' ' 

Everybody  laughed,  except  Milly  and  Edwin, 
the  latter  remarking  that  he  didn't  see  anything 
funny  in  that.  At  which  Miss  Hayes  said  to 
him,  under  her  breath,  "  Oh,  you  superior  people 
are  so  contemptuous  of  our  frivolity !"  And  Ned 
blushed  with  satisfaction,  and  murmured,  "  Why, 
no ;  I'm  not  superior,  I'm  sure." 

As  for  Milly,  with  obvious  effort  and  getting 
very  red,  she  said  that  she  didn't  see  how  silence 
could  be  profane.  "  As  long  as  you  didn't  say 
anything,  you  conquered  your  spirit,"  she  added, 
faintly. 

And  then  they  all  (except  Edwin)  laughed 
again.  After  that  she  made  no  attempt  to  be 
taken  into  the  gayety  about  her,  but  her  heart 
burned  within  her.  The  next  morning  at  break 
fast  some  words  struggled  out :  "  You'd  think 
she  was  a  young  thing,  she  laughs  so.  And  she's 
nearly  thirty-five." 

"  How  time  flies  !"  said  Tom,  chuckling.  And 
then,  to  everybody's  astonishment,  the  mute  Ed 
win  spoke  up,  and  said  that  as  for  age  it  was  a 


DR.   LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

matter  of  the  soul  and  not  of  the  body.  "  Some 
people  are  always  young,"  said  Edwin.  "  Dr. 
Lavendar  is,  and  you  are,  father — " 

"  Thank  you,  grave  and  reverend  seignior." 

"  — and  mother,"  continued  the  candid  youth, 
"  has  always  been  old.  Haven't  you,  mother?" 

"  True,  for  you,  my  boy,"  said  the  father ; 
"  your  mother  has  the  wisdom  of  the  family." 

Milly  Dilworth's  face  grew  dully  red  to  the 
roots  of  her  hair ;  a  wave  of  anger  rose  up  in  her 
inarticulate  heart.  They  called  her  old,  these 
two.  She  could  hardly  see  her  plate  for  tears. 

Edwin,  however,  was  so  thrilled  by  the  ele 
gance  of  his  sentiment  that  he  was  eager  to  re 
peat  it  to  Miss  Hayes ;  but,  somehow,  he  always 
had  difficulty  in  introducing  the  subject  of  age. 
When  he  did  succeed  in  getting  in  his  little 
speech,  she  said  that  he  impressed  her  very  much 
when  he  said  things  like  that.  "  Your  insight 
is  wonderful,"  she  murmured,  looking  at  him 
with  something  like  awe  in  her  eyes.  (Miss 
Helen  was  never  cunning  with  Ned.) 

"  I  guess  you're  the  only  person  that  thinks 
so,"  Ned  said :  "  at  home  they're  always  making 
fun  of  me." 

"  My  friend,"  she  said,  gravely,  "  what  else 
can  you  expect  ?  You  are  an  eagle  in  a  pigeon's 


AMELIA 

nest.  I  don't  mean  to  criticise  your  family,  but 
you  know  as  well  as  I  that  you  are — different. 
You  are  an  inspiration  to  me,"  she  ended.  And 
Ned  blushed  with  joy. 

It  certainly  is  inspiring  to  be  told  you  are  an 
inspiration.  .  .  .  Mr.  Thomas  Dilworth  did  not 
blush  when  he  learned  that  mentally  he  was  the 
most  stimulating  person  that  Miss  Hayes  had 
ever  met ;  but  he  had  an  agreeable  consciousness 
of  his  superiority,  which  he  made  no  effort  to 
conceal  from  his  wife.  He  never  made  any  effort 
to  conceal  anything  from  Milly,  not  even  that 
fondness  for  female  society  which  Mrs.  Drayton 
had  deplored. 

And  by-and-by  Milly's  tears  began  to  lie  very 
near  the  surface.  They  never  gathered  and  fell, 
but  perhaps  they  dropped  one  by  one  on  her 
heart,  leaving  their  imprint  of  patiently  accept 
ed  pain.  At  this  time  she  thought  of  her  own 
mental  deficiencies  very  constantly.  Her  mind 
had  no  flexibility,  and  she  reached  conclusions 
only  by  toilsome  processes ;  but  once  reached, 
they  were  apt  to  be  permanent.  Her  slow  reason 
ing  at  this  time  led  her  to  conclude  that  her 
Thomas  was  not  to  blame  because  he  admired 
some  one  who  was  cleverer  than  she.  "  Why, 
he'd  be  foolish  not  to,"  she  thought,  sadly. 
213 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

But  this  eminently  reasonable  conclusion  did 
not  save  Mrs.  Dilworth  from  turning  white  and 
red  with  misery,  when,  for  instance,  her  husband 
observed  that  he  had  had  to  take  down  two  bars 
of  the  Gordon  fence,  so  that  Miss  Hayes  could 
go  home  across  lots.  Then  Thomas  chuckled, 
and  added  that  Helen  Hayes  was  the  brightest 
woman  he  knew. 

He  did  not  go  on  to  tell  of  his  walk  in  the 
October  dusk,  and  Miss  Helen's  arch  appeal  to 
him  for  instruction  on  a  certain  political  point 
on  which  she  was  ignorant.  Thomas  had  in 
structed  her  so  fully  and  volubly,  while  she  look 
ed  at  him  with  her  reverent  gaze,  that  it  had 
grown  dark ;  and  that  was  why  he  had  to  take 
her  home  across  lots.  Thomas  had  not  men 
tioned  these  details;  he  merely  said  he  thought 
Miss  Helen  Hayes  a  bright  woman — the  bright 
est,  to  be  exact,  that  he  knew.  And  yet  his 
Milly  went  into  the  kitchen  pantry  and  hid  her 
face  in  the  roller  behind  the  door  and  sobbed. 

Well,  of  course !  It's  very  absurd.  A  fat, 
wordless  woman,  who  ought  to  be  darning  her 
children's  stockings,  it's  very  absurd  for  her  to 
be  weeping  into  a  roller  because  her  man,  who 
has  loved  her  for  forty-three  years,  eleven 
months,  twenty-nine  days,  twenty-three  hours, 


AMELIA 

and  forty  minutes — her  man,  to  whom  she  is  as 
absolutely  necessary  as  his  old  slippers  or  his 
shabby  old  easy-chair — because  this  man  does 
not  think  her  the  brightest  woman  he  knows. 
But  absurd  as  it  is,  it  is  suffering. 

The  woman  of  faithful  heart  who  has  been 
left  behind  mentally  by  her  husband  is  a  tragic 
figure,  even  if  she  is  at  the  same  time  a  little 
ridiculous — poor  soul!  Her  futile,  panting 
efforts  to  catch  up ;  her  brave,  pitiful  blunders ; 
her  antics  of  imitation;  her  foolish  pink  lawn 
frocks — of  course  they  are  funny ;  but  the  mid 
night  tears  are  not  funny,  nor  the  prinking  (be 
hind  locked  doors),  nor  the  tightened  dresses, 
nor  the  stealthy  reading  to  "  improve  the  mind  " 
— that  poor,  anxious,  limited  mind  which  knows 
only  its  duty  to  its  dearest  and  best.  These 
things  mean  the  pain — a  hopeless  pain — of  the 
recognition  of  limitations.  What  did  it  matter 
that  once  a  year  Tom  announced  that  he  had 
loved  his  Amelia  for  so  many  years,  months, 
days,  hours,  and  minutes? — He  did  not  talk  to 
her  about  the  President's  letter!  But  he  talked 
to  Helen  Hayes  about  it.  And  yet  she  was  a 
pale  thing.  "  She  never  had  my  color,"  poor 
Milly  thought ;  "  and  they  say  she  doesn't  get 
along  well  at  home.  And  she's  no  housekeeper. 
M  215 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

Mrs.  Hayes  herself  told  me  she  was  just  real  use 
less  about  the  house.    I  can't  understand  it." 

Of  course  she  could  not  understand  it.  What 
feminine  mind  ever  understood  why  uselessness 
attracts  a  sensible  man?  It  is  so  foolish  that 
even  the  most  foolish  woman  cannot  explain  it. 

As  the  autumn  closed  in  on  Old  Chester,  no 
body  in  the  family  noticed  Milly  Dilworth's 
heavier  look  and  deeper  silence.  Tom  himself 
was  more  talkative  than  usual ;  business  had  been 
good,  and  he  was  goipg  to  get  something  hand 
some  out  of  a  deal  he  had  gone  into  with  Hayes. 
This  took  him  often  to  the  Hayeses'  house;  and 
after  the  two  men  had  had  their  talk,  Miss  Helen 
was  to  be  found  at  the  parlor  fireside,  very  arch 
and  eager  with  questions,  but  most  of  all  so  re 
spectful  of  Tom's  opinions.  His  Amelia  was  re 
spectful  of  his  opinions,  too,  but  in  such  a  dif 
ferent  way.  Perhaps  just  at  this  time  Thomas 
Dilworth  pitied  himself  a  little — the  middle-aged 
husband  does  pity  himself  once  in  a  while.  Per 
haps  he  sighed — certainly  he  whistled.  There 
is  no  doubt  that  Mrs.  Dray  ton  would  have  felt 
he  was  wandering  from  his  Amelia — at  least  in 
imagination.  And  yet  Tom  was  as  settled  and 
grounded  in  love  for  his  middle-aged  wife  as  he 
ever  had  been. 

216 


AMELIA 

This,  however,  cannot  be  understood  by  those 
who  do  not  know  that  the  male  creature,  good 
and  honest  and  faithful  as  he  may  be,  is  at  heart 
a  Mormon. 

"  I  declare,"  Tom  said,  coming  home  at  twelve 
o'clock  at  night — "  I  declare  I  feel  younger." 

Milly  was  silent. 

Then  Tom  began  to  whistle : 


Then  he  broke  off  to  say  that  he  didn't  think 
that  Helen  Hayes  was  over-happy  at  home. 
"  The  Hayeses  are  commonplace  people,  and  she 
is  very  superior.  I  guess  they  don't  get  along 
well."' 

Milly  thought  to  herself  that  when  a  girl 
didn't  get  along  with  her  own  mother  it  didn't 
speak  well  for  the  girl ;  but  she  did  not  say  so. 

But  Thomas  went  on  to  declare  that  he  didn't 
217 


DR.   LAVENDAR'S   PEOPLE 

know  what  to  make  of  Ned.  "  Hanging  round 
the  Hayeses  till  I'm  ashamed  of  him!  Why 
doesn't  he  know  better?  I  never  bored  a  woman 
to  death  when  I  was  his  age."  And  his  wife 
thought,  in  heavy  silence,  that  there  were  other 
people  who  hung  round  the  Hayeses. 

However,  Thomas  made  his  feeling  so  clear 
to  his  son  that  during  the  winter  Ned  was  never 
seen  at  the  Hayeses'  on  the  same  evening  that  his 
father  was  there.  But  there  was  an  hour  in 
the  afternoon,  from  five  to  six,  when  the  boy  was 
free  and  Thomas  was  busy  with  his  spades  and 
buckets ; — but  you  can't  look  after  a  boy  every 
minute. 


IV 


POOR  Amelia,  in  her  bedroom,  in  the  chilly  De 
cember  dusk,  sopped  her  eyes  with  cold  water 
and  looked  in  the  glass.  "  I  mustn't  cry  any 
more,"  she  said  to  herself,  despairingly — 
"  they're  so  red  now !" 

A  door  opened  down-stairs,  and  there  was  a 
burst  of  laughter ;  and  Mrs.  Dilworth,  in  the  cold 
twilight,  went  on  sopping  her  eyes.  Tom  and 
the  girls  evidently  didn't  need  her.  "  They 
could  get  along  just  as  well  without  me.  And 
if  the  Lord  would  take  me,  Tom  could — could — 
so  he  could — " 

Her  soul  was  dumb,  even  to  itself;  but  she 
knew  what  it  was  that  Tom  "  could  "  do. 

And  she  knew  it  without  bitterness.  Like 
every  other  woman  whose  love  for  her  husband 
has  in  it  the  maternal  element  (and  most  good 
women's  love  has  this  element),  she  had  always 
felt  that  if  she  died  Thomas  ought  to  marry 
again ;  but  this  simple  creature  went  one  ahead 
219 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

of  that  rather  elementary  feeling,  and  specified : 
she  was  willing  to  have  him  marry  her. 

"  If  the  Lord  would  only  remove  me,"  said 
poor  Milly,  looking  miserably  in  the  glass  at 
her  plump  figure,  which  showed  no  indications  of 
removal.  Her  eyes  were  hopelessly  red;  she 
didn't  see  how  she  could  possibly  go  down  to  sup 
per.  But  of  course  she  had  to  go  down.  The 
mother  of  a  family  and  the  mistress  of  one  ser 
vant  must  go  down  to  supper,  no  matter  what  the 
condition  of  her  eyes  may  be.  She  slunk  into  her 
seat  behind  her  teacups,  and  scarcely  dared  to 
look  about  her  noisy,  hungry  circle,  still  less  at 
her  Thomas,  who  was  smiling  to  himself,  but  who 
did  not  share  his  amusement  with  his  family. 
Still,  when  he  suddenly  said  something  about  the 
refreshment  of  talking  to  intelligent  people,  it 
was  not  hard  to  guess  the  direction  of  his 
thoughts.  "  It  sharpens  your  brains  up,"  said 
Thomas.  "  I  was  going  to  suggest,  Milly,  that 
you  should  ask  Helen  Hayes  to  tea  again;  but 
she's  got  company ;  and  when  they  leave  she's 
going  off  to  make  a  visit  to  some  of  her  rela 
tions,  she  tells  me." 

Amelia's  mild  lips  tightened  silently.     So  they 
had  been  together  again.      Her  hand  shook  as 
she    poured    out    another    cup    of   tea    for   her 
220 


AMELIA 

Thomas,  who  took  that  moment  to  say,  with  all 
a  husband's  candor,  that  she  was  getting  fatter 
than  ever.  "  I  thought  you  were  starving  your 
self  to  get  thin,  Milly  ?"  he  said,  smiling.  Milly 
smiled,  too,  faintly ;  but  she  was  saying  to  her 
self:  "What  did  they  talk  about?  How  long 
were  they  together?  Oh,  if  I  could  only  be 
taken  away !" 

It  would  be  interesting  to  follow  the  processes 
of  a  mind  like  Mrs.  Dilworth's :  how  did  a  wife 
and  mother  of  children  reach  the  point  of  feeling 
that  her  family  would  be  better  off  without  her? 
Anybody  in  Old  Chester  could  have  told  her 
such  a  belief  was  folly,  and  wicked  folly  at  that. 
But  it  seemed  just  plain  reason  to  Milly  Dil- 
worth :  "  I'm  not  necessary  to  anybody.  Thomas 
likes  somebody  younger.  He  can't  marry  her 
because  I'm  alive;  he  could  marry  her  (and  she 
would  be  good  to  the  children)  if  I  were  not 
here.  But  I  am!"  she  would  end,  hopelessly. 

Morning  after  morning,  as  she  went  about 
her  household  duties,  or  when  before  tea  she  sat 
in  her  little,  old  rocking-chair,  mending  the 
family  stockings,  she  used  to  break  herself 
against  the  hopelessness  of  the  situation:  She 
was  there ;  and  unless  the  Lord  would  remove  her 
(any  other  sort  of  removal  was  impossible  to  her 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

devout  imagination)  Tom  could  not  have  what 
he  wanted — yes,  and  needed,  too.  For  it  was  at 
this  period  that  Mrs.  Dilworth  recognized,  what 
most  wives  of  men  do  recognize  at  one  time  or 
another,  that  although  being  a  wife  and  mother 
is  the  only  vocation  of  a  married  woman,  being 
a  husband  and  father  is  only  one  of  many  voca 
tions  of  a  married  man.  Hence  the  companion 
ship  of  an  eminently  worthy  wife  is  almost  never 
enough  for  the  male  creature.  When  this  harsh 
truth  burst  upon  Milly,  she  wiped  her  eyes  on 
the  stocking  she  was  mending  and  groaned 
aloud.  But  she  did  not  rail  against  the  fact, 
nor  did  she  attempt  to  deny  it ;  wherein  she  show 
ed  a  superfeminine  intelligence.  She  only  said 
to  herself  that  Thomas  could  not  have  what  he 
wanted  while  she  was  alive ;  yet  she  couldn't,  it 
seemed,  die,  although  she  was  so  miserable  that 
she  didn't  know  how  she  lived!  It  was  at  this 
point  that  she  began  to  make  wild  schemes  to 
relieve  the  situation:  Suppose  she  asked  that 
Hayes  girl  to  come  and  make  them  a  visit  ?  But 
no — a  man  wants  more  than  to  just  look  at  a 
pretty  girl  across  the  table.  Suppose  she  went 
away  herself  and  made  a  visit,  and  asked  Miss 
Helen  Hayes  to  come  and  keep  house  for  her? 
(Like  all  good  wives,  Milly  had  no  hesitation  in 
222 


AMELIA 

offering  up  another  woman  to  the  pleasure  of  her 
lord. )  No ;  people  would  talk  about  Tom  if  she 
did  that.  .  .  .  The  amount  of  it  was,  poor 
Milly,  although  she  did  not  know  it,  was  really 
planning  that  Thomas  should  have  two  wives 
at  the  same  time — and,  dear  me !  how  that  would 
simplify  things !  There  would  be  the  old,  sen 
sible,  matter-of-fact  wife  to  mend  his  stockings 
and  order  his  good  dinner  and  nurse  him  through 
the  indigestion  consequent  upon  the  dinner — the 
old,  anxious  wife,  who  has  had  the  children  and 
reared  them,  who  has  planned  and  economized 
and  toiled  with  him,  who  has  borne  the  burden 
and  heat  of  the  day  at  his  side — the  prosaic 
wife,  who  gives,  unasked,  such  good  advice. 
Every  one  will  admit  that  this  elderly  person 
has  been,  and  (to  a  limited  degree)  still  is,  a 
necessity  to  every  Thomas.  But  sometimes 
Thomas  thinks,  in  his  simple  way,  that  it  would 
be  pleasant  to  have  the  luxuries  as  well  as  the 
necessities  of  life ;  to  have,  for  instance,  a  young 
wife — a  pretty  wife,  clever  and  light-hearted 
and  gayly  tyrannical;  a  wife  who  never  knew 
enough  to  advise  anybody,  who  should  be  a 
relaxation  and  a  refreshment,  and  just  a  little 
bit  of  a  fool;  for,  as  every  intelligent  (unmar 
ried)  woman  knows,  men  like  fools;  feminine 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

fools.  Of  course  the  trouble  is  that  if  you  sup 
ply  a  wife  for  two  sides  of  a  man's  charac 
ter — for  utility,  so  to  speak,  and  for  diversion — 
he  may,  not  unreasonably,  demand  that  every 
side  and  angle  and  facet  of  his  jewel-like  nature 
have  its  own  feminine  setting.  That  was  prob 
ably  Solomon's  idea.  Well,  well!  the  time  is  not 
yet  for  this  reasonable  arrangement;  and  it  is 
possible  that  trade  in  galvanized  buckets  will 
never  warrant  its  extensive  existence. 

But  all  this  is  very  frivolous  compared  to  the 
reality  of  this  poor  woman's  pain,  a  pain  that 
finally  evolved  a  plan  which,  although  less  pictu 
resque  than  the  harem,  was  of  the  same  grade  in 
the  eye  of  the  law,  though,  curiously  enough, 
not  in  her  own  eye.  She  could  not,  as  she  ex 
pressed  it  to  herself,  be  dead,  so  that  her  Thomas 
might  have  his  wish ;  but  he  could  think  she  was 
dead. 

When  this  extraordinary  idea  came  into 
Milly  Dilworth's  head,  she  felt  as  one  impris 
oned  in  darkness  who  sees,  far  off,  the  glimmer 
of  daylight.  He  "  could  think  she  was  dead !" 
And  if  he  thought  so,  of  course  there  could  be 
nothing  wrong  in  his  marrying  "  her"  (Miss 
Hayes's  moral  status  did  not  enter  into  Milly's 
calculations. ) 


AMELIA 

The  light  in  her  darkness  dazzled  poor  Milly 
at  first,  and  the  way  was  not  clear.  It  took  two 
weeks  of  further  thought  to  decide  upon  the 
step,  and  then  to  evolve  its  details ;  but  one  need 
not  go  into  them  as  Milly  did.  ...  As  she  sat 
at  her  work,  day  after  day,  she  thought  her  plan 
out  slowly  and  toilsomely.  At  first  she  kept  balk 
ing  at  the  enormity  of  it.  Then  some  chance 
word  would  betray  Tom's  admiration  for  brains, 
and  she  would  beat  and  spur  her  mind  up  to  her 
project  again.  .  .  .  And  at  last  she  accepted 
it.  ...  Once  accepted,  the  thing  was  settled. 
Her  mind  had  about  as  much  flexibility  as  a  bar 
of  lead,  and  there  was  no  changing  it.  It  only 
remained  to  decide  upon  the  details.  This  she 
did  slowly  and  painfully.  Each  step  was  plan 
ned,  each  contingency  arranged  for. 

And  by-and-by  the  day  came  to  act. 

The  night  before,  at  supper,  Mrs.  Dilworth, 
her  hands  stumbling  among  her  teacups,  said, 
faintly,  "  I'm  going  over  to  the  other  side  of  the 
river  to-morrow  to  order  some  chickens  from 
Mrs.  Kensy." 

"  That  Kensy  house  is  right  by  the  railroad 
station,"  Ned  said,  scowling;  "I  don't  believe 
she  has  any  hens." 

is  225 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

"  Yes,  she  has,  Neddy,"  said  Mrs.  Dilworth. 
Edwin    frowned    blackly.      "I    do   wish   you 
wouldn't  call  me  by  that  absurd  name,  mother." 
"  I  keep  forgetting,  Neddy  dear." 
Edwin  held  up  his  hands  despairingly. 
''What  are  you  two  people  talking  about?" 
demanded  Thomas. 

''  I'm  going  to  walk  over,  across  the  ice,  to  the 
Bend,  to-morrow,"  said  Milly. 

"  Walk  !"  her  husband  protested.  "  What  do 
you  walk  for?  It's  cold  as  Greenland  on  the  ice, 
and,  besides,  they  were  cutting  at  the  pool  by 
the  Bend ;  you  don't  want  to  go  that  way,  Milly. 
Take  the  stage  round." 

Mrs.  Dilworth  crumbled  a  piece  of  bread  with 
shaking  fingers,  and  said  nothing. 

"What  time  are  you  going,  mother?"  in 
quired  Edwin. 

"  In  the  afternoon,  about  four." 
"  Why,  you  went  there  only  two  days  ago," 
Edwin  said,  irritably.     "  I  saw  you  on  the  back 
road  carting  a  big  bundle." 

"  It  would  have  been  more  to  the  point  if 
you'd  done  the  carting  for  your  mother,"  Tom 
Dilworth  said,  sharply. 

His  wife  paled  suddenly  at  that  word  about  a 
bundle,  but  the  subject  was  not  pursued.    Edwin 
226 


AMELIA 

said,  grumbling,  that  he  didn't  see  what  possess 
ed  his  mother  to  choose  such  an  hour.  "  It's  too 
dark  for  a  lady  to  be  out,"  Edwin  protested. 

"  Too  dark  for  a — grandmother!"  his  father 
said.  "  Don't  you  criticise  your  mother,  young 
man."  And  then  he  added :  "  Look  out  for  the 
places  where  the  men  were  cutting,  Milly.  It 
hasn't  frozen  over  yet." 

And  Mrs.  Dilworth  said,  after  a  pause,  "  I 
know." 

That  night  was  a  misery  of  dreams  that  the 
deed  was  done,  broken  by  wakings  desperate 
with  the  knowledge  that  it  was  yet  to  do.  In  the 
morning  she  seemed  to  have  lost  all  power  of 
words;  she  bore  her  husband's  reproaches  that 
Ned  was  late  for  breakfast ;  she  went  about  her 
household  duties ;  she  watched  the  girls  start  for 
school  (she  did  not  kiss  them;  demonstrations  of 
affection  had  never  been  possible  to  this  dumb 
breast;  but  she  stared  after  them  with  haggard 
eyes)  ;  and  through  it  all  she  hardly  uttered  a 
word;  when  she  did  speak,  it  seemed  as  though 
she  had  to  break,  by  agonizing  effort,  some 
actual  lock  upon  her  lips.  When  the  girls  had 
gone  she  looked  about  for  her  eldest;  but  Ned 
was  not  to  be  found.  "  I  never  knew  him  to  go 
to  the  store  before  breakfast,"  she  thought, 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 


miserably.    His  father,  pulling  on  his  coat  in  the 
hall,  said  that  Ned  was  getting  industrious  to 
go  to  his  work  so  early !    His  wife  was  silent. 
When     he      started,      whistling     cheerfully, 


££JL4Jj 


she  watched  him  from  the  window,  straining  her 
eyes  until  he  was  out  of  sight.  Then  she  went 
up-stairs  to  her  bedroom,  and,  opening  his  closet 
door,  leaned  her  head  against  one  of  his  coats, 
trembling  very  much. 

Afterwards  she  wandered  about  the  house  in 
aimless,  restless  waiting  for  Ned. 

In  the  course  of  the  morning  Tom  sent  over 
to  inquire  why  the  boy  had  not  come  to  the  store. 
Milly  told  the  messenger  to  tell  Mr.  Dilworth 
that  Mr.  Edwin  was  not  at  home.  "  Say  I 
thought  he  was  at  the  store,"  she  said.  "  I'll  give 
him  his  father's  message  when  he  comes  in  to 
228 


AMELIA 

dinner."  But  he  did  not  come  in  to  dinner ;  and 
minute  by  minute  the  afternoon  ticked  itself 
away.  She  had  said  to  herself  that  she  must 
start  about  four,  before  Nancy  and  Mary  got 
home  from  school.  "  It  must  be  so  that  it  would 
be  dark  when  I  was  coming  back,"  she  reminded 
herself.  "  If  I  leave  here  at  four,  and  get  my 
bundle  from  Mrs.  Kensy  at  five,  it  would  be 
pretty  dark  by  the  time  I  would  be  going  home. 
Mrs.  Kensy  will  tell  them  that  it  was  dark." 

At  four  Edwin  had  not  appeared ;  Milly,  hav 
ing  no  imagination,  had  no  anxiety;  she  merely 
gave  up,  patiently,  the  hope  of  a  wordless  good 
bye.  But  she  kept  looking  for  him ;  and  when 
she  finally  put  on  her  things,  she  paused  and 
turned  back  to  the  window,  to  look  once  more 
towards  Old  Chester;  but  there  was  no  sign  of 
Ned.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  to  postpone  her 
plan ;  her  mind,  run  into  the  mould  of  sacrifice, 
had  hardened  into  rigidity.  So  at  last,  miser 
ably,  the  tears  running  down  her  face,  she  step 
ped  out  into  the  cold  and  went  down  through  tho 
garden  to  the  river.  There  she  turned  and  look 
ed  back,  with  dumb  passion  in  her  eyes ;  the  fire 
light  was  winking  from  the  parlor  windows  and 
all  the  warm  commonplace  of  life  seemed  to 
beckon  her.  She  put  her  muff  up  to  wipe  her 
229 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

eyes,  but  she  made  no  prayer  or  farewell;  her 
silence  had  reached  her  soul  by  that  time. 

It  was  very  cold;  the  ice  was  rough,  and  the 
wind  had  blown  the  dry  snow  about  in  light 
drifts  and  ripples,  so  that  walking  was  not  diffi 
cult.  She  trudged  out,  up  towards  the  Bend, 
skirting  the  place  where  the  men  had  been  cut 
ting.  They  had  gone  home  now,  and  the  ice 
about  the  black,  open  space  of  water  was  quite 
deserted.  The  wind  came  keenly  down  the  river, 
blowing  an  eddy  of  snow  before  it;  the  bleak 
sky  lay  like  lead  over  the  woods  along  the  shore. 
There  was  not  a  house  in  sight.  Amelia  Dil- 
worth  looked  furtively  about  her;  then  she  bent 
down  and  scraped  at  the  snow  on  the  edge  of 
the  ice,  as  one  might  do  who,  in  the  water,  was 
struggling  for  a  hold  upon  it.  After  that,  for 
a  long  time,  she  stood  there,  looking  dumbly  at 
the  current  running,  black  and  silent,  between 
the  edges  of  the  ice.  At  last,  her  hand  over  her 
mouth  to  check  some  inarticulate  lament,  she 
stooped  again,  and  put  her  little  black  muff  on 
the  broken  snow  close  to  the  water. 

When  she  reached  Mrs.  Kensy's  she  was  quite 
calm.      She  said  briefly  that  she  had  come  to 
order    some    chickens ;    "  — and    I'll    take    that 
bundle  I  asked  you  to  keep  for  me." 
230 


--;  * 


THERE    SHE    TURNED    AND    LOOKED     BACK 


AMELIA 

The  woman  brought  it,  and  Milly  tucked  her 
fingers  through  the  stout  strings  she  had  tied 
so  carefully  a  few  days  before.  When  she  would 
open  it  in  the  woods,  and  put  on  the  new  dress 
and  shawl  and  the  heavy  veil  that  it  held,  and 
then,  in  the  dark,  take  the  half-past-five  train, 
no  one  would  know  that  Thomas  Dilworth's  wife 
had  fled  away  into  another  State.  They  would 
find  the  muff,  and  they  would  think  —  there 
would  be  only  one  thing  to  think. 

"  I  want  the  chickens  for  Sunday,"  she  said ; 
"please  send  them  over  on  Saturday."  Then 
it  came  into  her  mind  with  a  little  gush  of  happi 
ness  that  she  would  pay  for  them  on  the  spot, 
instead  of  having  the  bill  sent  to  Tom,  as  was  her 
custom ;  she  had  drawn  a  sum  of  money  from  the 
bank  a  fortnight  ago — a  small  sum,  but  her 
own ;  now  it  was  all  in  her  purse ;  she  would  buy 
Tom's  Sunday  dinner  out  of  her  little  fund. 
Except  to  leave  him,  it  was  the  last  thing  she 
would  ever  do  for  him. 

She  put  her  hand  into  her  pocket — and  chilled 
all  over.  Then  stood  blankly  looking  at  the  wom 
an  ;  then  plunged  her  hand  down  again  into  her 
pocket;  then  exclaimed  under  her  breath;  then 
tore  her  bag  open  and  fumbled  distractedly 
among  brushes  and  night-gown  and  slippers; 

16 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

then  pulled  her  pocket  wrong  side  out  with 
trembling  fingers. 

"  My  purseT'  she  said,  breathlessly.  Then 
she  searched  everything  again. 

"  It  ain't  any  difference,"  Mrs.  Kcnsy  pro 
tested. 

"  I  must  have  left  it  at  home.  I  can't  go  back 
for  it.  It  is  too  late." 

"  What  for?"  said  Mrs.  Kensy. 

"  The— the  train." 

"  Oh,  you  was  going  on,  was  you?"  Mrs. 
Kensy  said.  "  Well,  I  can  let  you  have  the  price 
of  a  ticket  a  little  ways." 

But  Mrs.  Dilworth,  with  shaking  hands, 
pulled  everything  out  of  her  bag,  shook  her 
skirts,  fumbled  in  the  bosom  of  her  dress,  ran 
out  and  searched  the  garden-path,  strained  her 
eyes  across  the  snow  on  the  river — all  in  vain. 
"  Oh,  my!"  she  said,  faintly. 

"  But  I  can  lend  you  the  price  of  a  ticket, 
ma'am,"  Mrs.  Kensy  said  again. 

"  No  matter,"  Mrs.  Dilworth  said,  dully.  "  I'll 
go  home." 

Even  as  she  spoke  she  heard  the  train  tooting 
faintly  far  up  the  valley.  She  sat  down,  feeling 
suddenly  sick. 


THERE  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  go  home.  She 
remembered  now  how  in  her  agitated  watching 
for  her  son  she  had  put  her  purse  down  on  the 
corner  of  her  bureau — and  left  it  there.  Yes; 
there  was  nothing  to  do  but  go  back.  "  I  can 
start  to-morrow,"  she  said  to  herself.  But  in 
the  sick  reaction  of  the  moment  she  knew  that 
she  could  never  start  again;  her  purpose  had 
been  shattered  by  the  blow.  She  took  her  bundle 
' — the  bundle  that  meant  flight  and  disguise  and 
self-sacrifice,  and  that  stood  for  the  shrewdness 
which  is  so  characteristic  of  the  kind  of  stu 
pidity  which  forgets  the  purse — and  went  stum 
bling  down  in  the  darkness  to  the  river.  She 
said  to  herself  that  she  must  get  her  muff; 
and  she  thought  heavily  that  it  would  be  pretty 
hard  to  carry  so  many  things  across  the  ice. 
She  was  numb  with  the  shock  of  interrupted 
ecstasy.  She  could  not  feel  even  mortification — 
only  fatigue.  She  was  so  tired  that,  seeing  in 
233 


DR.   LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

the  darkness  a  hurrying  figure  approaching  her, 
she  did  not  recognize  her  husband  until  he  was 
almost  upon  her. 

"  Milly?    My  God !    Milly !" 

He  had  her  muff  in  his  hand,  and  as  he  reach 
ed  her  he  caught  at  her  shoulder  and  shook  her 
roughly.  "  Milly — I  thought — I  thought — " 
He  stammered  with  agitation.  "  I  found  this 
muff,  and  I  thought  it  was  yours ;  and  Neddy's 
gone,  too,  and  I  thought — both  of  you — 

"  Neddy  gone?"  she  repeated,  dully. 

She  stood  still  on  the  ice,  trying  to  get  her 
wits  together. 

"  He's  disappeared.  He  isn't  in  town.  He 
went  out  early  this  morning.  To  skate,  I  sup 
pose.  Nora  saw  him  from  her  window ;  at  about 
six,  she  says.  And  this  open  water  " — she  felt 
him  quiver  at  her  side — "  and  then  this  muff— 

"No!"  she  said.  "  I— I  made  a  mistake." 
She  did  not  take  in  the  words  about  Ned. 

"  But  where  is  he?  Nobody's  seen  him.  I 
suppose  I'm  a  fool,  but  I'm  uneasy.  I  came  to 
meet  you  because  I  thought  you  might  know. 
But  when  I  saw  this  muff — it  is  yours,  Milly, 
isn't  it? — I  got  into  a  panic  about  you,  too." 

"Why,"  she  said — "it's  mine;  yes.  I — I 
left  it — I  suppose.  Neddy  wasn't  with  me.  Did 
234 


AMELIA 

you  think  he  was  with  me?  I  don't  understand," 
she  ended,  bewildered. 

"  He  hasn't  been  at  home  all  day,"  her  hus 
band  said,  "  nor  in  town,  either."  And  then  he 
repeated  the  story,  while  she  looked  at  him,  slow 
understanding  dawning  in  her  eyes. 

"  Neddy — gone  !     Where  ?" 

"  But  that's  what  I  don't  know,"  the  father 
said. 

And  his  wife,  dazed  still,  but  awake  to  the 
trouble  in  his  voice,  began  to  comfort  him, 
alarm  rising  slowly  in  her  own  heart  like  an  icy 
wave. 

"  Maybe  he  went  to  see  somebody  in  Upper 
Chester?" 

"  But  he  doesn't  know  anybody  at  Upper 
Chester.  Of  course  it's  possible.  Only — you 
gave  me  such  a  fright,  Milly !"  Mrs.  Dilworth 
put  her  hand  over  her  mouth  and  trembled. 
"  However,  I  guess  he's  all  right,  as  you  say.  I 
guess  we'll  find  him  at  home  when  we  get  back. 
It's  lucky  I  came  to  meet  you,  because  I  can  lug 
your  things  for  you.  How  did  you  drop  your 
muff,  dear?  Here,  take  it;  your  hands  must  be 
cold.  Oh,  Milly,  you  gave  me  an  awful  fright — 
it  was  right  on  the  very  edge  of  the  ice ;  those 
confounded  cutters  hadn't  put  up  any  ropes. 
235 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

You  do  really  think  there's  no  reason  to  be  un 
easy  about  Ned?" 

"  No,"  she  said.  Her  knees  shook ;  she  had  to 
pause  to  swallow  before  she  spoke.  Oh,  what  if 
he  should  find  her  out?  As  she  trudged  along 
at  his  side  in  the  cold  darkness  she  said  to  her 
self,  with  a  sickening  sense  of  apprehension, 
that  if  he  found  her  out  she  should  die.  Then 
as  her  mind  cleared  she  tried  in  her  brief  way  to 
encourage  him  about  their  boy ;  yet,  as  they 
drew  nearer  home  and  she  saw  again  the  firclit 
windows,  she  began  to  awaken  to  the  situation : 
Neddy  had  gone  out  to  skate ;  at  six,  did  Nora 
say?  Of  course  he  might  have  stopped  to  see 
somebody  in  Upper  Chester ;  only  Neddy  never 
went  to  see  anybody  anywhere — except  (Amelia 
Dilworth  had  forgotten  her ! )  —  except  that 
Hayes  girl — and  she  wasn't  at  home.  Yes,  it 
was  strange;  and  worrying,  perhaps.  But  she 
only  repeated,  as  they  went  hurrying  up  to  the 
back  door,  that  she  was  sure  Neddy  was  all  right. 
But  she  held  her  breath  to  listen  for  his  voice 
haranguing  his  sisters  in  the  sitting-room.  In 
stead,  the  two  girls  came  running  out  to  meet 
them. 

"Oh,  father,  did  you  find  Ned?     Oh,  here's 
mother ;  she'll  know  where  he  is." 
236 


AMELIA 

"  Mother,  I'm  sort  of  scared  about  him," 
Mary  whispered. 

"  He's  gone  to  see  some  friend,"  the  mother 
said,  and  her  brevity,  so  agonizing  to  her,  seem 
ed  to  reassure  the  others. 

"  He  hasn't  any  friend  except  Miss  Helen 
Hayes,"  Nancy  said,  "  and  she  went  away  last 
week." 

"  Maybe  he's  gone  to  hunt  her  up,"  Mary 
said,  giggling,  and  her  father  told  her  to  be 
quiet. 

"  It's  thoughtless  in  him  to  be  so  late.  But 
your  mother  isn't  worried,  so  I  guess  we  needn't 
be.  Your  mother  says  there  is  not  the  slightest 
cause  for  anxiety,  and  she  knows." 

"  Come  to  supper,"  Amelia  said,  her  heart 
sinking;  and  the  commonplace  suggestion  cheer 
ed  them  all,  although  Tom  Dilworth  did  not  like 
to  lose  the  assurance  of  his  wife's  presence,  even 
to  have  her  go  up-stairs  to  take  off  her  bonnet, 
and  went  with  her,  saying  again,  decidedly,  that 
there  was,  as  she  said,  no  possible  reason  for  un 
easiness,  and  that  he  himself  hadn't  a  particle  of 
anxiety.  "  But  I'll  give  that  boy  a  piece  of  my 
mind  for  worrying  you  so.  Why,  Milly,  what  a 
fat  pocket-book!  Where  did  you  get  so  much 
money,  my  dear?  I  didn't  know  the  hardware 
237 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

trade  was  so  prosperous.     Look  here,  Milly — it 
is  pretty  late,  honestly  ?" 

She  took  her  purse  out  of  his  hands,  her  own 
trembling.  For  a  moment  she  could  not  speak, 
and  leaned  forward  to  look  into  the  swinging 
glass  and  make  pretence  of  untying  a  knot  in 
her  bonnet-strings.  "  Oh,  he'll  come  home  soon," 
she  said. 

In  spite  of  assurances,  the  tea-table  was  not 
very  cheerful — the  girls  stopped  short  in  the 
middle  of  a  sentence  to  listen  for  a  step  on  the 
porch.  Tom  got  up  twice  to  look  out  of  the 
window.  Mrs.  Dilworth  thought  she  heard  the 
gate  slam,  and  held  her  breath ;  but  no  Ned  ap 
peared.  The  evening  was  endlessly  long.  Tom 
pretended  to  read  his  newspaper,  and  kept  his 
eye  on  one  spot  for  five  minutes  at  a  time.  At 
ten  he  packed  the  girls  off  to  bed ;  at  eleven  he 
was  walking  up  and  down  the  room;  at  twelve 
he  told  his  wife  to  go  to  bed;  but  somehow  or 
other  he  went  himself,  while  she  sat  up,  "  to  let 
the  boy  in." 

You  can  make  excuses  for  this  sort  of  lateness 
up  to  a  certain  point;  but  it  is  curious  that  at 
about  2.30  in  the  morning  the  excuses  all  give 
out.  Tom  Dilworth  got  up  and  dressed. 
"  Something  has  happened,  Milly,"  he  said, 
238 


AMELIA 

brokenly.     His  wife  put  her  arms  around  him, 
trying  to  comfort  him. 

"  If  Miss  Hayes  was  only  at  home,"  she  said, 
"  maybe  she  would  have  some  idea  of  his  plans. 
He  might  have  told  her.  And  she  could  tell  us 
what  to  do." 

"Who?"  said  Tom  — "  that  Hayes  girl? 
Maybe  so.  I  hadn't  thought  of  her.  No,  I  don't 
believe  she'd  be  any  help.  She  hasn't  got  much 
sense  in  that  kind  of  way." 

Such  ages  and  ages  was  Milly  away  from  her 
great  experience  of  jealousy  that  she  felt  no  re 
lief  at  this  bald  betrayal.  Together  they  went 
out  onto  the  porch,  listening,  and  straining  their 
eyes.  The  moon  was  just  going  down;  it  was 
very  cold ;  far  off  a  dog  barked.  But  there  was 
no  human  sound.  The  two  haggard  people  went 
shivering  back  into  the  hall,  where  a  candle 
burned  dimly  in  the  glass  bell  hanging  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  Something  has  certainly  happened,"  Tom 
said  again.  "  Oh,  Milly,  you  are  always  so 
calm  and  I  go  all  to  pieces."  He  leaned  his 
elbow  against  the  wall  and  hid  his  face  in  his 
arm.  His  wife  heard  him  groan. 

"  And — I've  been  hard  on  him  sometimes,"  he 
said. 

239 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

She  took  his  hand  and  kissed  it  silently. 

Poor  Tom  went  to  pieces  more  than  once  in 
the  days  that  followed — dreadful  days  of  panic 
and  despair.  Old  Chester,  aroused  at  daybreak 
by  the  terrified  father,  decided  at  once  that  the 
boy  was  drowned ;  but  everybody  stood  ready  to 
help  the  stricken  parents  with  hopeful  words  to 
the  contrary,  words  which  rang  as  hollow  to 
Thomas  and  his  wife  as  to  the  well-meaning  liars. 

It  was  on  Wednesday  that  he  had  disappeared. 
On  Friday  they  dragged  the  river  through  the 
open  holes ;  on  Saturday,  blew  up  the  ice  and 
dragged  all  the  way  down  to  the  second  bend. 
That  night  Nancy  and  Mary  crept  away  to  cry 
in  their  own  room ;  Tom  sat  with  his  head  buried 
in  his  arms ;  his  wife  knelt  beside  him,  touching 
him  sometimes  with  a  quiet  hand,  but  never 
speaking.  Dr.  Lavendar  came  in  and  put  his 
hand  on  Tom's  shoulder  for  a  minute,  and  then 
went  away.  The  firelight  slipped  flickering 
about  the  room ;  sometimes  the  coal  in  the  grate 
snapped  and  chuckled,  and  a  spurt  of  flame 
shone  on  the  two  suddenly  aged  faces.  And 
then  into  the  silent  room  came,  with  hurried, 
shamefaced  triumph — Edwin. 

"  I — I'm  afraid  you've  been  anxious — 

"  He  ought  to  have  written,"  said  another 
240 


AMELIA 

voice,  breathless  and  uncertain,  and  breaking 
into  nervous  laughter.  "  It  is  naughty  in  him 
to  have  forgotten.  I — I  told  him  so." 

Thomas  Dilworth  lifted  his  head  and  stared, 
silently ;  but  his  wife  broke  out  into  wild  laugh 
ter  and  streaming  tears ;  she  ran  and  threw  her 
self  on  Edwin's  breast,  her  throat  strangling 
with  sobs. 

"  Oh— she's  found  Neddy !  She  has  brought 
him  back  to  us ! — she  has  found  him !  Oh,  Miss 
Hayes,  God  bless  you — God  bless  you!  Oh, 
where  did  you  find  him?" 

Miss  Hayes  opened  her  lips — then  bit  the 
lower  one,  and  stood,  scarlet. 

"  I  meant  to  write,"  Edwin  began  to  explain 
— "  of  course  I  meant  to  write,  but — " 

"  Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Dilworth,"  Helen's  fluttering 
voice  took  up  the  excuse,  "  you  must  forgive 
him" — she  came  as  though  to  put  her  arms 
about  Ned's  mother.  "  After  all,  a  bridegroom, 
you  know — " 

Milly  lifted  her  head  from  Edwin's  shoulder 
and  gaped  at  her. 

"  Bridegroom  ?" 

Thomas  Dilworth  got  on  his  feet  and  swore. 
Miss   Helen  Hayes — or,  no;   Mrs.   Edwin  Dil 
worth — came  and  hung  upon  his  arm. 
16 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

"  You  won't  mind  very  much  ?  You'll  for 
give  him?  We  couldn't  tell,  because — because 
papa  would  have  interfered;  but  I  knew  your 
dear,  kind  heart.  Mrs.  Dilworth,  I  have  so  re 
vered  Mr.  Dilworth ! — that  was  one  reason  I  said 
yes.  You'll  let  me  be  your  little  girl,  Mr.  Dil 
worth?" 

"  Little — grandmother!"  said  Tom  Dilworth ; 
and  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter ;  then  stopped, 
and  said  through  his  set  teeth  to  his  son,  "  You 
scoundrel !" 

"  Thomas  - —  don't !"  the  mother  entreated. 
"  He  has  come  back." 

"  He'd  better  have  stayed  away !"  Thomas 
said,  furiously,  in  all  the  anger  of  suddenly  re 
lieved  pain. 

"  Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Dilworth,"  Helen  murmured, 
"  forgive  us !  He  ought  to  have  written — I 
ought  to  have  reminded  him.  But — you  under 
stand?  I  know  you  do.  Just  these  first  beauti 
ful  days,  one  forgets  everything." 

"  Well,  I  tell  you  I  meant  to  write,"  Ned  per 
sisted,  doggedly.  "  But  mother  put  me  all  out 
by  going  over  to  the  Bend  in  the  afternoon.  I 
was  going  to  take  that  train,  and  of  course  I 
couldn't;  Kensy's  house  is  right  there  by  the 
station.  And  I  had  to  take  the  morning  train 


AMELIA 

instead ;  and  it  put  me  all  out.  I  had  to  get  up 
so  early  I  forgot  to  take  any  clothes,"  he  added, 
resentfully.  "  It  wasn't  my  fault." 

"Not  your  fault?"  his  father  said,  and  then 
turned  to  his  wife,  almost  with  a  sob.  "  Milly, 
can  he  be  our  boy,  this  sneak?" 

"  Yes ;  yes,  he  is,  Tom ;  indeed  he  is,  dear. 
And  he  just  forgot;  he  didn't  mean  anything 
wrong."  Milly  was  almost  voluble,  and  she  was 
crying  hard.  And  then  she  looked  at  the  woman 
who  had  brought  him  back — the  faded,  anx 
ious,  simpering  woman,  who  for  once  had  no 
words  ready.  Milly  looked  at  her,  and  sudden 
ly  opened  her  arms  and  took  her  son's  elderly 
wife  to  her  heart.  "  Oh,  you  poor  woman," 
she  said,  "  how  unhappy  you  must  have  been 
at  home !" 

Helen  looked  at  her  blankly,  then  dropped  her 
head  down  on  the  kind  shoulder,  and  Milly  felt 
her  quiver. 

"  She's  fifty !"  Tom  said,  trembling  with  an 
ger.  "  How  the  devil  a  son  of  mine  can  be  such 
a  jack — ' 

"Tom,  dear!  there  now,  don't,"  the  mother 

said ;  "  he's  at  home.     Just  think ;  he's  at  home ! 

and   we   thought — we   thought —         Her   voice 

broke.      "  We'll   all   love   you,    Miss    Hayes — I 

243 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

mean    Helen,"    she    whispered   to    the    sobbing 
woman. 

Then,  with  a  sort  of  gasp,  she  put  her  daugh 
ter-in-law's  arms  aside  gently,  and  went  over 
and  kissed  her  husband. 

As  for  Thomas  Dilworth,  after  the  first  shock 
of  anger  and  mortification  had  passed,  and  the 
young  couple  had  finally  settled  themselves  upon 
the  disgusted  bounty  of  the  respective  fathers, 
he  used  to  whistle  incessantly  a  certain  song 
much  in  vogue  at  the  time : 

"*  I  hanker 
To  spank  her, 
Now  I'm  her  papa!" 


"AN   EXCEEDING   HIGH   MOUNTAIN" 


"AN   EXCEEDING   HIGH   MOUNTAIN" 


ROBERT  GRAY'S  first  wife,  Alys  (Old  Chester  had 
hard  work  to  swallow  her  name ;  "  but  it's  better 
than  any  of  your  silly  '  ie's,'  "  said  Old  Chester) 
— this  first  Mrs.  Gray  was  a  good  deal  of  a  trial 
to  everybody.  She  was  not  only  "  new,"  but 
foreign ;  not  only  foreign,  but  indifferent  to 
Old  Chester.  Indeed,  it  took  all  Old  Chester's 
politeness  and  Christian  forbearance  to  invite 
Mrs.  Robert  Gray  to  tea — with  the  certainty 
that  the  invitation  would  be  declined.  She  was 
an  English  girl  whom  Robert  met  somewhere  in 
Switzerland — a  heavy-eyed,  silent  creature,  cer 
tainly  a  very  beautiful  woman,  but  most  ineffi 
cient  and  sickly;  and  there  were  so  many  nice, 
sensible  girls  in  Old  Chester!  (However,  there 
is  no  use  saying  things  like  that:  as  if  a  man 
ever  married  a  girl  because  she  was  sensible ! ) 
17  24,7 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

Yet  young  Gray  certainly  needed  a  sensible 
wife;  his  wealth  was  limited  to  character  and 
good  manners,  plus  a  slender  income  as  tutor  in 
the  Female  Academy  in  Upper  Chester.  Excel 
lent  things,  all;  but  a  wife  with  sense  (and 
money)  would  have  been  an  agreeable  addition 
to  his  circumstances.  Whereas,  this  very  beauti 
ful  English  girl  was  a  penniless  governess,  left 
stranded  in  Germany  by  an  employer,  who  had, 
apparently,  got  tired  of  her.  Robert  Gray  had 
met  the  poor,  frightened  creature,  who  was  tak 
ing  her  wandering  way  back  to  England,  and 
married  her,  frantic  with  rage  at  the  way  she 
had  been  treated.  When  he  brought  her  home, 
he  was  so  madly  in  love  that  he  probably  did  not 
half  appreciate  Old  Chester's  patience  with  her 
queer  ways.  But  the  fact  was,  that  for  the  few 
months  she  lived,  she  was  so  miserable  that  Old 
Chester  could  not  help  being  patient,  and  for 
giving  her  her  half-sullen  indifference,  and  her 
silence,  and  her  distaste  for  life — even  in  Old 
Chester ! 

For  in  spite  of  Robert's  adoration,  in  spite  of 
all  the  ready  friendliness  about  her,  in  spite  of 
the  birth  of  a  baby  girl,  she  seemed,  as  it  were, 
to  turn  her  face  to  the  wall.  She  died  when  the 
child  was  about  a  week  old.  Died,  the  doctor 
248 


"EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN" 

said,  only  because,  so  far  as  he  could  see,  she  did 
not  care  to  live. 

I "  You  ought  to  try  to  get  better  for  the 
baby's  sake,"  said  Miss  Rebecca  Jones,  who  had 
come  in  to  help  nurse  her.  And  the  poor  girl 
frowned  and  shook  her  head,  the  heavy,  white 
lids  falling  over  her  dark  eyes. 

"  I  don't  like  it." 

And  Rebecca  (who  had  too  much  good  sense 
to  be  shocked  by  the  vagaries  of  a  sick  woman) 
said,  decidedly :  "  Oh,  you'll  learn  to  like  her. 
Come,  now,  just  try  !" 

But  she  did  not  seem  to  try;  even  though 
Robert,  kneeling  with  his  arm  under  her  pillow, 
holding  her  languid  hand  to  his  lips,  said,  sob 
bing,  "  Oh,  Alys,  Alys— for  God's  sake— don't 
leave  me — 

Then  she  opened  her  beautiful  eyes  and  looked 
at  him  solemnly.  "  Robert,"  she  said,  "  I  am 
sorry.  I  am — sorry.  I — am — " 

"What  for,  precious?"  he  entreated;  "sorry 
for  what?  to  leave  me?  Oh,  Alys,  then  live,  live, 
dear !" 

"  I — am —  '  she  began ;  and  then  her  voice 
trailed  into  eternity.) 

Miss  Rebecca  Jones  hung  about  the  house 
for  a  few  days,  to  make  the  poor  gentleman 
249 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

comfortable ;  then  he  was  left  alone  with  the 
child  (purchased  at  so  dreadful  a  cost)  and  one 
servant,  and  his  daily  work  of  teaching  the  polite 
languages  at  the  Female  Academy.  Miss  Re 
becca's  hard  face  softened  whenever  she  thought 
of  him;  but  all  she  could  do  for  him  was  to  go 
often  to  see  the  poor  seven-months  baby — which 
seemed  for  a  time  inclined  to  follow  its  mother. 

Now  it  must  be  understood  at  once  that  Re 
becca  Jones  was  not  a  schemer,  or  a  mean  or 
vulgar  woman.  She  was  merely  a  hard-headed, 
honest-hearted  product  of  years  of  public-school 
teaching,  with  a  passion  for  truth  and  no  grace 
in  telling  it.  She  was  sorry  for  Mr.  Gray,  and 
sorry  for  the  poor  baby,,  who  was  being  allowed, 
she  said  to  herself,  to  grow  up  every  which  way ; 
and  sorry  for  the  comfortless  house  left  to  the 
care  of  what  she  called  "  an  uneducated  servant- 
girl."  So,  after  school,  and  on  Saturday  morn 
ings,  she  used  to  go  over  to  Mr.  Gray's  house 
and  bustle  about  to  the  bettering  of  several 
things.  -Indeed,  old  Mr.  Jones  told  her  more 
than  once  that  he  didn't  know  what  that  there 
widower  would  do  without  her.  And  Rebecca 
said,  truthfully  enough,  that  she  didn't  know, 
cither.  And  when  she  said  it  her  heart  wanned 
with  something  more  than  pity.  > 
250 


"EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN' 

As  for  Robert  Gray,  dazed  and  absent,  try 
ing  to  do  his  duty  at  the  Academy  during  the 
day,  and  coming  home  at  night  to  look  blankly 
at  his  child,  he,  too,  did  not  know  what  he  would 
have  done  that  first  year  without  Miss  Rebecca's 
efficient  kindness.  He  was  so  centred  in  his 
grief,  and  also  of  so  gentle  a  nature,  that  he 
took  the  kindness  as  simply  as  a  child  might  have 
done.  Like  many  another  sweet-minded  man, 
he  had  not  the  dimmest  idea  of  the  possible 
effect  of  his  rather  courtly  manner  and  his  very 
delicate  courtesy  upon  a  woman  of  slightly  dif 
ferent  class,  whose  life  had  been  starved  of  every 
thing  romantic  or  beautiful.  He  became  to 
sharp-tongued  Miss  Rebecca  Jones  a  vision  of 
romance ;  and,  somehow,  quite  suddenly,  about 
eighteen  months  after  his  wife's  death,  he  dis 
covered  that  he  was  going  to  marry  her.  In  his 
startled  astonishment,  he  realized  that  he  had 
himself  led  up  to  her  avowal  of  willingness  by 
some  talk  about  her  kindness.  Perhaps  she  had 
misunderstood  his  words ;  if  she  had,  Robert 
Gray  was  not  the  man  to  offer  an  explanation. 
.  .  .  However,  after  the  first  shock  of  being  ac 
cepted,  he  was  gently  explicit : 

"  I  realize  that  the  child  ought  to  have  the 
care  of  a  good  woman,  and  therefore  I— 
251 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

"  I'll  do  my  duty  by  her,"  Rebecca  said. 

"  I  want  her  brought  up  to  love  and  reverence 
her  mother.  I  want  her  brought  up  to  be  like 
her.  It  is  for  the  child's  sake  that  I — I  marry 
again.  I  speak  thus  frankly,  Miss  Rebecca,  be 
cause  I  so  entirely  respect  you  that  I  could  not 
be  anything  but  frank." 

Rebecca's  square  face  flushed  over  the  high 
cheek-bones  to  the  gaunt  forehead  and  the  sparse 
hair;  then  her  eyes  looked  passionately  into  his. 
"  I  understand.  Yes ;  I  understand.  And  I 
will  be  good  to  your  child,  Mr.  Gray." 

And  so  he  married  her;  and,  when  you  come 
to  think  of  it,  it  was  a  very  sensible  thing  to  do. 
Even  Old  Chester  said  he  was  very  sensible.  A 
man  of  thirty,  with  a  baby — of  course  he  ought 
to  marry  again !  "  But  why  on  earth,"  said  Old 
Chester,  "  when  there  are  so  many  girls  of  his 
own  class ! — not  but  what  Rebecca  Jones  is  a 
very  worthy  person." 

Meanwhile,  Rebecca,  with  hard  conscientious 
ness,  set  herself  to  bring  the  child  up.  She 
trained  her,  and  disciplined  her,  and  made  a 
painful  point  of  talking  to  her  about  the  first 
Mrs.  Gray,  according  to  her  promise  to  teach 
her  to  "  love  and  reverence  her  mother."  The 
discipline  sometimes  made  Robert  Gray  wince; 


"  EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN ': 

but  it  was  wise,  and  never  unkind;  so  he  never 
interfered; — but  he  left  the  room  when  it  was 
going  on.  Once  he  said,  nervously: 

"  I  scarcely  think,  Mrs.  Gray,  that  it  is  neces 
sary  to  be  quite  so  severe?" 

"  She  must  be  made  a  good  child,"  Rebecca 
answered. 

"  I  am  not  afraid  that  she  will  not  be  a  good 
child,"  Robert  Gray  said ;  "  she  is  her  mother's 
daughter." 

"  Well,  she  is  her  father's  daughter,  too,"  Re 
becca  declared,  briefly.  And  her  husband, 
shrinking,  said : 

"  Light  is  stronger  than  darkness ;  Alice's 
mother  was  a  creature  of  light.  I  am  not  afraid 
of  her  inheritance  of  darkness." 

As  for  Rebecca,  she  went  away  and  shut  her 
self  up  in  the  garret.  "  '  Creature  of  light !' ' 
she  said,  sitting  on  the  floor  under  the  rafters, 
and  leaning  her  head  on  an  old  horsehair-covered 
trunk  wherein  were  packed  away  Mr.  Gray's 
winter  flannels — "  well,  I  am  a  good  wife  to  him, 
if  I  ain't  a  '  creature  of  light.' ' 

Yes,  she  was   a   good  wife.   .   .   .  How  care 
fully  she  put  his  flannels   away  in  May ;  how 
prudently  she  planned  his  food ;  how  she  man 
aged  to  make  the  two  ends  of  his  little  income 
253 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

meet — yes,  and  lap  over,  so  that  every  summer 
he  could  go  away  from  her  for  a  two  months' 
vacation  in  the  woods!  Not  once  did  he  find  a 
button  lacking;  not  once  had  he  put  on  a  clean 
pair  of  stockings  and  then  pulled  them  off  be 
cause  of  a  hole  in  the  heel.  Can  our  lords  say 
as  much,  my  mistresses?  I  trow  not!  Yes,  a 
good  wife:  that  lovely  being  who  left  the  world 
with  a  faint,  unfinished  regret  upon  her  pitiful 
lips  could  never  have  made  him  so  comfortable. 

Indeed,  the  whole  household  revolved  upon 
Robert's  comfort.  Every  domestic  arrangement 
had  reference  to  his  well-being.  That  he  did 
not  become  intolerably  selfish  was  not  Rebecca's 
fault,  for,  like  many  good  wives,  she  was  abso 
lutely  without  conscience  in  the  matter  of  self- 
sacrifice;  but  Robert  escaped  spiritual  corrup 
tion,  thanks  to  his  own  very  gentle  nature  and  his 
absolute  unconsciousness  of  the  situation.  Per 
haps,  too,  Rebecca's  tongue  mitigated  the  spoil 
ing  process.  She  never  spared  him  what  she 
considered  to  be  the  truth  about  himself  or  Alice. 
But  her  truthfulness  stopped  here;  she  spared 
the  dead,  perforce.  For  what  could  she  say  ill 
of  that  beautiful  creature  whose  only  wrong 
doing  lay  in  dying?  But  she  knew,  with  shamef 
that  she  would  have  liked  to  speak  ill  of  her — in 


"EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN' 

which  reprehensible  impulse  to  remove  a  fellow- 
being  from  a  pedestal,  Rebecca  showed  herself 
singularly  like  the  rest  of  us. 

In  this  bleak  air  of  unselfishness  and  truth- 
telling,  Robert  Gray  became  more  and  more 
aloof.  Gradually  he  retreated  quite  into  his 
past,  doing  his  daily  work  at  the  Academy — 
where  successive  classes  of  young  ladies  adored 
him  for  his  gentle  manners  and  his  mild,  brown 
eyes — and  living  very  harmlessly  with  his  memo 
ries,  which  he  kept  fresh  and  fragrant  by  shar 
ing  them  with  Alys's  daughter,  who,  it  must  be 
admitted,  being  young  and  human,  was  not  al 
ways  intensely  interested;  but  Rebecca  had 
trained  her  too  well  for  Alice  ever  to  show  any 
weariness.  Robert  kept  his  little  collection  of 
pictures  and  photographs  of  his  first  wife  shut 
behind  the  curtained  doors  of  an  old  secretary. 
If  his  second  wife  found  him  standing,  his  hands 
clasped  behind  him,  his  eyes  wandering  from  one 
lovely  presentment  to  another,  he  never  dis 
played  an  embarrassed  consciousness,  but  he  shut 
the  doors.  He  accepted  Rebecca's  devotion  re 
spectfully  ;  he  was  never  impolite,  still  less  un 
kind;  in  fact,  in  all  their  married  life  he  had 
never,  she  used  to  tell  herself,  spoken  unkindly 
save  once ;  and  then  his  words  were  nothing 
255 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

more  dreadful  than,  "  We  will  not  discuss  it,  if 
you  please,  Mrs.  Gray."  At  first  he  had,  very 
gently,  made  some  grammatical  suggestions  ;  and 
she  had  profited  by  them,  though,  being  a  true 
Pennsylvanian,  she  never  mastered  "  shall  "  and 
"  will,"  nor  did  she  lose  the  Pennsylvania  love 
for  the  word  'just';  to  the  end  of  her  days, 
Rebecca  was  'just  tired  out';  or  'just  real 
glad  ' ;  or  '  just  as  busy  as  could  be.'  Grammar, 
however,  was  as  far  as  Robert  Gray  went  in  any 
personal  relation.  He  addressed  her,  in  his 
courteous  voice  (always  a  little  timidly),  as 
"  Mrs.  Gray  " ;  and  he  kept  as  much  as  possible 
out  of  her  way.  Meantime,  Rebecca  (remember 
ing  why  he  had  married  her)  did  her  duty  by 
the  child,  and  never  failed  to  mention,  in  her 
hard  voice,  that  Alice  must  try  to  grow  up  like 
her  mother. 

"  Make  me  a  good  girl,"  Alice  used  to  say  in 
her  sleepy  prayers  every  night — "  make  me  a 
good  girl,  like  my  dear  mother."  Once,  of  her 
own  accord,  the  child  added,  "  And  make  me 
pretty  like  her,  too."  Rebecca,  listening  to  the 
little  figure  at  her  knee,  said,  sternly,  when  Alice 
got  up  and  began  to  climb  into  the  big  four- 
poster  : 

"  Don't  be  vain.  Don't  ask  God  for  foolish 
256 


"EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN' 

things.  Beauty  is  foolish,  and  favor  is  deceit 
ful.  Just  ask  Him  to  make  you  as  good  as  your 
mother  was." 

And,  indeed,  it  must  be  admitted  that  the 
child  did  not  inherit  her  mother's  wonderful 
beauty.  At  first  her  father  had  expected  it; 
he  used  to  take  liberties  with  his  Horace,  and 
say: 

"O  filia  pulchra  matre  pulchriore." 

But  as  Alice  grew  older,  Robert  Gray  had  to 
admit  that  the  dead  woman  had  taken  her  beauty 
away  with  her.  The  child  had  just  a  pleasant 
face ;  eyes  that  were  gray  or  blue,  as  it  happen 
ed;  a  commonplace  nose,  and  uncompromisingly 
red  hair.  In  those  days  red  hair  was  thought 
to  be  a  mortifying  affliction,  and  poor,  plain 
Alice  shed  many  tears  over  the  rough,  handsome 
shock  of  hair  that  broke  into  curls  about  her 
forehead  and  all  around  the  nape  of  her  pretty, 
white  neck. 

17 


II 


BUT  in  spite  of  red  hair,  and  what  Old  Chester 
religiously  believed  to  be  its  accompanying 
temper,  Alice  Gray  was  a  lovable  girl,  and  at 
twenty,  behold,  she  had  a  lover;  indeed,  she  had 
more  than  one  (not  counting  Dr.  Lavendar)  ; 
but  Alice  never  gave  a  thought  to  anybody  but 
Luther  Metcalf.  Luther  was  a  good  boy,  Old 
Chester  said ;  but  added  that  he  would  never  set 
the  river  on  fire. 

Certainly  he  did  not  use  his  incendiary  oppor 
tunity  ;  he  had  a  small  printing-office,  and  he 
owned  and  edited  Old  Chester's  weekly  news 
paper,  the  Globe;  but  neither  the  news  nor  the 
editorial  page  ever  startled  or  displeased  the 
oldest  or  the  youngest  inhabitant.  The  Globe 
confined  itself  to  carefully  accredited  cuttings 
from  exchanges;  it  had  a  Poet's  Corner,  and  it 
gave,  politely,  any  Old  Chester  news  that  could 
be  found ;  besides  this,  it  devoted  the  inner  sheet 
to  discreet  advertisements,  widely  spaced  to  take 
up  room.  All  Old  Chester  subscribed  for  it,  and 
258 


"EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN" 

spoke  of  it  respectfully,  because  it  was  a  news 
paper;  and  snubbed  its  editor,  because  he  was 
one  of  its  own  boys — and  without  snubbing  boys 
are  so  apt  to  put  on  airs!  Poor  Luther  was 
never  tempted  to  put  on  airs ;  he  was  too  hard- 
worked  and  too  anxious  about  his  prospects. 
He  and  Alice  were  to  get  married  when  he  and 
the  Globe  were  out  of  debt;  for  his  father  had 
left  him  a  mortgage  on  the  office  building,  as 
well  as  an  unpaid-for  press.  When  Luther  was 
particularly  low-spirited,  he  used  to  tell  Alice 
it  would  take  him  five  years  to  pay  his  debts; 
and,  to  tell  the  truth,  that  was  an  optimistic 
estimate,  for  the  Globe  and  the  printing-office 
together  did  very  little  more  than  pay  the  inter 
est  on  the  notes  and  Luther's  board. 

So,  when  they  became  engaged,  waiting  was 
what  they  looked  forward  to,  for,  of  course, 
Robert  Gray  could  not  help  them ;  it  was  all  Re 
becca  could  do  to  stretch  his  salary  to  cover  the 
expenses  of  their  own  household.  But  the  two 
young  people  were  happy  enough,  except  when 
Luther  talked  about  five  years  of  waiting. 

"  We've  been  engaged  two  years  already,"  he 
said,  moodily ;  "  I  don't  want  to  be  another  case 
of  Andrew  Steelc." 

"I'm  not  afraid,"  Alice  said.  "Why,  if 
259 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

you  get  the  new  job  press,  and  get  that  Mercer 
work,  think  how  much  that  will  help !" 

"  Well,"  Luther  said,  "  yes ;  but  if  I  get  the 
press,  there's  another  debt.  And  if  I  don't  get 
it,  I  can't  get  the  work ;  so  there  it  is.  A  vicious 
circle." 

This  question  of  the  purchase  of  a  new  press, 
before  the  old  press  had  been  paid  for,  was  a 
very  serious  and  anxious  one.  "  I  wish  father 
could  help,"  Alice  said — they  were  walking 
home  from  Wednesday-evening  lecture,  loitering 
in  the  moonlight,  and  wishing  the  way  were 
twice  as  long. 

"  Oh,  I  wouldn't  think  of  such  a  thing,"  the 
young  man  declared ;  "  we'll  pull  out  somehow. 
He's  gone  off  to  the  woods,  hasn't  he  ?" 

4  Yes,  he  went  this  morning ;  he's  so  pleased 
to  get  away !  He  won't  be  back  till  the  Academy 
opens." 

"  I  suppose  he  hates  to  leave  you,  though," 
Lute  said. 

'  Yes,  but  I  can  see  that  the  getting  away  is 
a  great  relief.  I  keep  his  pictures  dusted,  and 
take  the  flowers  up  to  the  cemetery  for  him ;  so 
he  knows  things  are  not  neglected." 

"  But,"  Luther  said,  thoughtfully,  "  I  think 
she's  sorry  to  have  him  go?" 
260 


"EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN' 

"  Oh  yes ;  sorry,  I  suppose,"  Alice  admitted. 
"  She's  fond  of  him — in  her  way." 

"  Then  why —  '  Luther  began. 

"  My  dear,  she's  jealous  of  my  mother." 

"  Oh,  Alice !" 

"  Well,  you  know,"  Alice  explained,  "  my 
mother  was  so  beautiful — and  poor  Mrs.  Gray ! 
But  I  must  say,  Lute,  she's  the  justest  person  I 
know.  She's  always  told  me  that  my  mother  was 
perfect.  And  of  course  she  was;  but  when 
you're  jealous,  it  isn't  so  easy  to  acknowledge 
things  like  that." 

"But  I  don't  see  how  you  can  be  jealous  of 
the  dead,"  Luther  ruminated. 

"Oh,  /do!  I  could  be  jealous  of  some  girl 
who  was  dead,  if  you'd  loved  her,  Lute."  And 
then  the  boy  put  his  arm  round  her,  and  they 
kissed  each  other  there  in  the  shadows  of  the 
locust-trees  overhanging  a  garden  wall.  "  I'm 
so  glad  there  isn't  anybody,  dead  or  alive," 
Alice  said,  happily ;  "  though  I'd  rather  have 
her  alive  than  dead.  If  she  were  alive,  you'd  have 
quarrelled  with  her,  and  stopped  loving  her. 
But  if  she  were  dead,  she  would  keep  on  being 
perfect.  Yes ;  I'd  rather  marry  a  man  who  had 
been — been  divorced,"  said  Alice,  lowering  her 
voice,  because  the  word  was  hardly  considered 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

proper  in  Old  Chester,  "  than  a  man  whose  wife 
was  dead,  because  he  would  always  be  thinking 
what  an  angel  she  was  and  what  a  sinner  I 
was." 

"  He  would  think  you  were  an  angel,"  the 
boy  told  her,  blushing  at  his  own  fervency. 

But  the  fervency  died  on  his  ardent  young 
lips  when  they  got  into  the  house  and  sat  de 
corously  in  the  parlor  with  Mrs.  Gray.  Rebecca 
was  sewing,  her  hard,  square  face  a  little  harder 
than  usual.  Mr.  Gray  had  gone  away  on  that 
annual  fishing-trip — gone,  with  a  look  of  relief 
growing  in  his  eyes  even  as  he  stepped  into  the 
stage  and  pulled  the  door  to  behind  him ;  pulled 
it  hurriedly,  as  though  he  feared  she  would  fol 
low.  Then,  baring  his  head  politely,  he  had 
looked  out  of  the  window  and  said: 

"  Good-bye.  You  will  send  for  me  should  you, 
by  any  chance,  need  me.  I  trust  you  will  be 
very  well." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  have  ever  had  to  in 
terrupt  your  fishing-trip  with  any  of  my  needs," 
Rebecca  had  answered,  briefly.  She  spoke  only 
the  truth;  she  never  had  interfered  with  any 
pleasure  of  his ;  and  yet  Robert  Gray  had 
winced,  as  if  he  had  not  liked  her  words.  Now, 
alone,  in  the  parlor,  darning  his  stockings,  she 
262 


"EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN' 

wondered  why.  She  never  said  anything  but 
the  simple  truth ;  but  he  looked  at  her  sometimes 
as  a  dog  looks  who  expects  a  blow.  He  was 
truthful  himself,  but  he  never  seemed  to  care 
much  to  hear  the  truth,  she  thought,  heavily. 
Once  he  told  her  that  truth  was  something  more 
than  a  statement  of  fact.  The  statement  of  a 
fact  may  be  a  lie,  he  had  said,  smiling  whimsi 
cally;  and  Rebecca  used  to  wonder  how  a  fact 
could  be  a  lie?  She  recalled  the  time  when,  with 
brief  accuracy,  she  had  mentioned  to  him  in 
what  condition  of  ragged  neglect  she  had  found 
his  wardrobe  after  the  "  creature  of  light "  had 
left  him;  and  how  he  had  seemed  to  shrink  not 
from  the  shiftless  dead,  but  from  her.  And  she 
remembered  painfully  that  one  unkindness:  She 
had  told  him  that,  to  her  mind,  not  even  the 
weakness  of  death  was  quite  an  excuse  for  say 
ing  you  didn't  like  your  own  baby ;  and  he  had 
said,  with  a  terrible  look,  "  We  will  not  discuss 
it,  if  you  please,  Mrs.  Gray."  She  had  never 
spoken  of  it  again ;  but  his  look  had  burned  into 
her  poor,  narrow,  sore  mind;  she  thought  of  it 
now,  moodily,  as  she  sat  alone,  her  heart  follow 
ing  him  on  his  journey.  If  his  first  wife  had 
only  not  been  so  perfect,  she  said  to  herself,  she 
could  have  borne  it  better ;  if  she  had  had  a  bad 
18  263 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

temper,  even,  it  would  have  been  something. 
But  she  had  often  heard  Robert  tell  Alice  that 
her  mother  had  an  "  angelic  temper."  Rebecca 
wished  humbly  she  herself  could  be  pleasanter. 
"  I  don't  feel  unpleasant  inside ;  but  I  seem  to 
talk  so,"  she  thought,  helplessly.  She  was  think 
ing  of  this  when  the  two  young  people  came 
in ;  and  looking  up  over  her  spectacles,  she  said, 
coldly : 

"  Did  you  remember  to  wipe  your  feet, 
Luther?  You  are  careless  about  that.  Alice, 
I  found  a  flower  on  my  daphne ;  you  can  carry 
the  pot  up  to  the  cemetery  when  you  go." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  Alice  said.  She  took  up  her 
sewing  (for  Rebecca  would  not  have  idle  hands 
about)  ;  sometimes  she  glanced  at  Luther,  sitting 
primly  in  the  corner  of  the  sofa,  and  once  caught 
his  eye  and  smiled;  but  there  were  no  sheep's- 
eyes  or  sweet  speeches.  They  were  Old  Chester 
young  people,  and  such  things  would  have  been 
considered  improper;  just  as  sitting  by  them 
selves  would  have  been  thought  not  only  inde 
corous,  but  selfish. 

"  Oh,  Alice,"  Luther  said,  suddenly,  "  I  meant 
to  ask  you;  wasn't  your  mother's  name  spelled 
'Alys'?" 

"Yes.     Why?" 

264 


"EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN" 

"  Well,  it's  such  an  unusual  name  that  it 
struck  my  attention  when  I  saw  it  in  the  pa 
per." 

"What  about  it?"  Alice  asked.  "Oh,  dear, 
why  didn't  father  spell  me  '  Alys  '  instead  of 
'  Alice  '  ?  It's  so  much  prettier !" 

"  Prettiness  isn't  everything ;  and  c  Alice  '  is 
a  sensible  name,"  Rebecca  said.  "  Don't  criti 
cise  your  father." 

"  It  was  an  advertisement  in  one  of  the  Globe's 
exchanges,"  Luther  explained.  "  I  was  scissor 
ing  things,  and  the  name  caught  my  eye.  It 
was  information  wanted.  Of  course  it's  just  a 
coincidence,  but  it's  queer,  because — here  it  is," 
said  the  editor  of  the  Globe,  fumbling  in  his 
pocket.  "  I  cut  it  out  and  meant  to  show  it  to 
you,  but  I  forgot.  Then  he  read,  slowly,  "  In 
formation  wanted  of  one  Alys  Winton— 

"  Why,  but  Winton  was  my  mother's  name !" 
cried  Alice. 

"  — one  Alys  Winton,  who  married  sometime 
in  18^5;  husband  thought  to  be  an  American, 
name  unknown.  She  (or  a  child  of  hers,  born  in 
1846)  is  requested  to  communicate  with  Amos 
Hughes,  Attorney  at  Law,"  etc. 

Alice  stared,  open-mouthed.  "  Why,  Lute !" 
she  said — "  why,  but  that  must  be  my  mother !" 
265 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

Lute  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  think  there's 
anything  in  it.  Do  you,  Mrs.  Gray?" 

"  Might  be,"  she  said,  briefly. 

Alice  took  the  crumpled  cutting,  and  holding 
it  under  the  lamp,  read  it  through  to  herselL 
"  But,  Lute,  really  and  truly,"  she  said,  "  it  is 
queer.  Perhaps  some  of  my  mother's  rich  rela 
tions  have  left  her  a  fortune !  Then  we  could 
pay  off  the  mortgage.  Only  I'm  afraid  my 
mother  hadn't  any  rich  relations — or  poor  ones, 
either.  I  never  heard  of  any.  Did  you,  Mrs. 
Gray?" 

"  No,"  Rebecca  said. 

"  She  was  a  governess,  you  know,  Lute,  in 
some  horrid  English  family ;  the  wife  didn't  like 
her,  and  she  discharged  my  poor  little  mother; 
then  the  family  went  off  and  left  her  all  alone 
in  Germany.  Perfectly  abominable  !" 

"  Don't  be  unjust,  Alice ;  you  don't  know  any 
thing  about  it,"  Mrs.  Gray  said.  "  She  was  very 
young.  Perhaps  she  couldn't  teach  the  children 
to  suit  their  parents.  Though  it  was  unkind  to 
leave  her  unprovided  for,"  she  added,  with  pain 
ful  fairness. 

"  I  guess  it  was !"  cried  Alice.  "  Oh,  how 
angry  father  gets  when  he  talks  about  it!  He 
says  she  was  in  such  terror,  poor  little  thing, 
266 


"EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN' 

when  he  met  her.  And  yet  she  was  very  forgiv 
ing,  father  says.  He  says  she  wrote  and  told 
the  gentleman  that  she  was  married.  I  wouldn't 
have.  I'd  have  let  him  think  I'd  starved,  so  he 
would  have  suffered  remorse — the  wretch!" 

"  I  hope  you  would  not  have  been  so  foolish 
or  so  selfish,"  her  step-mother  said. 

"  You  see,  she  had  no  relations  to  turn  to," 
Alice  explained  to  Luther ;  "  if  father  hadn't 
come,  dear  knows  what  would  have  become  of 
her." 

"  I  suppose  she  could  have  earned  an  honest 
living,  like  anybody  else,"  Mrs.  Gray  said. 

"  Well,  anyway,"  Alice  said,  thoughtfully, 
"  this  advertisement  is  queer.  She  had  no  rela 
tions  that  father  ever  heard  of ;  but  there  might 
be  some  one.  What  do  you  think,  Mrs.  Gray?" 

"There  might  be,"  Rebecca  said.  She 
thought  to  herself  that  it  was  very  probable; 
that  first  wife  had  brought  Robert  Gray  beauty 
and  love;  it  only  needed  that  she  should  bring 
him  money  to  make  it  all  perfect.  In  her  bleak 
mind  a  window  of  imagination  suddenly  opened, 
and  she  had  a  vision  of  what  wealth  would  mean 
to  her  husband,  coming  as  a  gift  from  those 
dead  hands.  She  set  her  lips,  and  said :  "  Better 
find  out  about  it,  Luther.  Write  to  the  man 
267 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

and  say  that  a  person  of  that  name  before  her 
marriage,  died  here  in  Old  Chester,  leaving  a 
child  —  and  don't  keep  your  hands  in  your 
pockets ;  it's  bad  manners." 

"  Do  you  really  think  it  is  worth  while, 
ma'am?"  Luther  said,  incredulously. 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  said  Alice.  "  Suppose  it 
should  be  some  inheritance?  Such  things  do 
happen." 

"  In  story-books,"  Lute  said. 

"  Well,  then  I'd  like  to  be  in  a  story-book," 
Alice  said,  sighing.  "  Just  think,  Lute,  we 
might  pay  for  the  press  and  pay  off  the  mort 
gage  !" 

"  Golly  !"  said  Lute. 

Then  they  fell  to  making  all  sorts  of  plans, 
gayly,  each  tripping  the  other  up  with  the 
prosaic  reminder  of  improbability. 

"  Or,  if  it  should  be  anything,"  Luther  said, 
"  it  won't  be  more  than  $100." 

"  Well,  that's  something ;  it  will  meet  two 
monthly  payments  on  the  press." 

"  It  will  pay  for  a  diamond-ring  for  you," 
Lute  said. 

"  Nonsense !    We'll  buy  father  a  horse." 

"And  who  will  buy  the  oats?"  Rebecca 
said. 

268 


"EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN' 

"  I  could  give  you  a  big  oleander,  Mrs. 
Gray,"  Alice  told  her,  smiling. 

"  You  could  put  the  money  in  the  bank,  like 
a  sensible  girl,"  Rebecca  said,  severely.  "  Don't 
speak  of  this  outside,  either  of  you.  Mr.  Gray 
wouldn't  wish  his  wife's  name  talked  about." 

"  And  don't  let's  write  anything  about  it  to 
him,"  Alice  said ;  "  let's  have  it  a  surprise ! — if 
there  is  anything  in  it;  only,  of  course,  there 
isn't  anything,"  she  ended,  sighing.  "  But  you 
might  write  to  the  man,  Lute." 

"  Of  course  there  isn't  anything,"  Lute 
agreed,  sensibly.  "  I'll  write  if  you  want  me 
to ;  but  I  wouldn't  build  on  it,  Ally,"  he  said,  as 
he  got  up  to  go.  And  when  he  paused  a  minute 
in  the  darkness  on  the  porch,  he  added,  softly, 
"  If  you  get  rich,  maybe  you  won't  want  a  poor 
printer?" 

And  she  laughed,  and  said,  "  Maybe  I  won't !" 

Then  he  kissed  her  just  under  her  left  ear, 
and  said,  "  Money  isn't  everything,  Ally." 


Ill 


MONEY  isn't  everything,  but  it  has  so  much  to 
do  with  most  things  that  even  a  dim,  story-book 
vision  of  it  stirred  Alice's  imagination.  Luther, 
having  no  imagination,  dismissed  the  vision 
from  his  mind  after  writing  a  letter  to  "  Amos 
Hughes,  Attorney  at  Law."  Indeed,  Luther  had 
more  practical  things  to  think  of  than  possible 
legacies,  poor  fellow.  His  balance-sheet  for 
that  month  of  June  was  very  dark.  More  than 
once,  after  the  office  was  closed  for  the  day,  he 
sat  at  his  desk  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  hot  and  tired 
and  grimy,  poring  over  his  ledger  by  the  light 
of  a  swinging  lamp.  Alice  grew  worried  about 
his  pallor  and  the  hollows  in  his  cheeks ;  but  there 
was  nothing  she  could  do,  though  she  chafed 
against  her  helplessness  to  help,  and  revolved 
all  sorts  of  schemes  in  her  impractical  girl-mind. 
Indeed,  she  went  so  far  as  to  pour  out  her  heart 
to  Dr.  Lavendar,  in  the  hope  that  he  could 
make  some  suggestion.  She  found  the  old  man 
sitting  in  the  wistaria  arbor  near  his  beehives, 
270 


"EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN' 

smoking  peacefully,  and  throwing  sticks  to 
Danny,  who  needed  exercise  and  scrambled  after 
them  into  the  tall  grass,  bringing  them  back 
with  fatiguing  alacrity. 

"  Look  here,  sir,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar,  "  don't 
find  'em  so  quick.  I'm  worn  out  pitching  them." 

Then  Alice  Gray  came  down  between  the  box 
borders  and  said  she  wanted  his  advice ;  and  Dr. 
Lavendar,  glancing  up  at  her,  saw  an  uncertain 
lip  and  heard  a  catch  in  her  voice ;  whereupon 
he  told  her  to  give  Danny  a  run.  "  The  scoun 
drel  has  kept  me  working  for  the  last  half-hour," 
he  complained. 

When  she  came  back,  flushed  and  laughing, 
and  sat  down  on  the  arbor  step,  her  voice  was 
quite  steady;  so  he  listened  placidly  to  her 
story. 

"  You  want  to  get  some  work  to  help  Lute, 
do  you,  good-for-nothing?" 

"  Yes,"  Alice  said,  eagerly.  "  Oh,  Dr.  Laven 
dar,  can  you  think  of  anything?  I  wanted  to 
go  into  the  office  and  learn  to  set  type,  but  Mrs. 
Gray—" 

"Well?" 

"  Mrs.  Gray  said  I  had  better  learn  to  keep 
house  economically.  She  said  father  wouldn't 
like  it." 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

"  Mrs.  Gray  would  always  think  first  of  what 
your  father  would  like." 

Alice  scratched  lines  in  the  gravel  with  one 
of  Danny's  sticks.  "  I  suppose  she  would,"  she 
admitted. 

"  And  what  did  Lute  say?" 

"  Oh,  he  wouldn't  listen  to  it.  But  I  thought 
maybe  you  could  make  him,  Dr.  Lavendar?" 

"I?"  said  Dr.  Lavendar.  "No,  thank  you. 
Do  you  think  I'd  rob  the  boy?" 

"Rob  him?" 

"  Of  his  self-respect ;  a  boy  wants  to  stand 
on  his  own  legs ;  he  doesn't  want  a  girl  propping 
him  up.  You  let  Lute  alone.  He'll  manage. 
And  you're  young  yet,  anyhow.  It  wron't  hurt 
ye  to  wait.  Mrs.  Gray  is  right.  You  learn  to 
be  as  good  a  housekeeper  as  she  is ;  and  though 
you  mayn't  put  money  into  Lute's  pocket  be 
fore  you're  married,  you'll  not  be  taking  it  out 
after  you're  married." 

Alice  sighed.  "  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  help  Lute ; 
I  wish  I  had  a  lot  of  money." 

"  A  lot  of  sense  is  better,"  Dr.  Lavendar  said, 
chuckling.  "  Oh,  you  women !  You  steal  a 
man's  unselfishness  and  self-respect,  and  you  put 
it  down  to  love.  Love?  You're  a  pack  of 
thieves,  the  lot  of  you.  You  ought  to  be  prose- 


"EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN" 

cuted.     I'd  do  it,  if  I  had  time.     Hey,  Danny! 
bite  her ;  she's  like  all  the  rest  of  'em." 

Alice  hugged  him,  and  defended  herself. 
"You're  just  an  old  bachelor;  you  don't  appre 
ciate  us." 

"  Appreciate  ye  ?  I  appreciate  you.  Maybe 
that's  why  I'm  an  old  bachelor." 

But  though  he  discouraged  Alice's  projects 
for  assisting  Luther,  Dr.  Lavendar  went  plod 
ding  up  the  printing-office  stairs  the  next  morn 
ing.  Luther,  emerging  from  behind  a  press, 
brightened  at  the  sight  of  his  caller,  and 
ushered  him  into  a  small  closet  which  he  called 
his  private  office ;  and  when  Dr.  Lavendar  asked 
him  to  print  some  more  missionary-meeting 
notices,  he  said  he  would  put  them  in  at  cost 
price. 

"  Don't  you  do  it !"  said  Dr.  Lavendar, 
thumping  the  floor  with  his  umbrella.  "  Look 
here;  I'll  have  to  teach  you  the  first  principles 
of  business :  make  your  profit — and  don't  go  to 
'  pauperizing  the  Church,'  sir.  There's  too 
much  of  that  sort  of  thing,"  he  added,  with 
reminiscent  crossness.  "  Some  scalawag  of  a 
bookseller  wrote  and  offered  to  sell  me  books  at 
thirty-three  per  cent,  discount  because  I  was  a 
parson.  There's  no  more  reason  why  a  parson 
is  273 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

should  get  a  discount  than  a  policeman.  I  told 
him  so.  I  tell  you  so.  Print  those  slips,  and 
print  'em  better  than  you  did  the  last  lot!  Do 
you  hear  that?  You  forgot  a  comma  on  the 
second  line.  Plow's  business,  Lute?" 

Lute's  face  fell.  Then  they  talked  things 
over,  to  the  boy's  great  comfort ;  and  at  the  end 
of  the  talk  Lute  straightened  his  shoulders  and 
drew  a  good  breath. 

"  By  George !  sir,  if  hanging  on  does  it,  I'll 
hang  on —  '  he  stopped,  and  looked  round,  in 
answer  to  a  knock.  "  Well  ?"  he  said,  impa 
tiently.  But  the  gentleman  who  stood  in  the 
doorway  was  not  rebuffed. 

"  Are  you  Mr.  Metcalf ,  the  editor  of  the 
Globe?"  * 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Luther. 

"  I  called  in  relation  to  an  advertisement " — 
Luther  was  instantly  alert,  and  Dr.  Laven- 
dar,  scenting  a  customer,  was  about  to  with 
draw — "  an  advertisement  in  a  New  York  pa 
per,  requesting  information  of  a  certain  per 
son—" 

"What!"  cried  Luther.  "I  had  forgotten 
all  about  it." 

"  My  name  is  Carter.  I  am  from  the  office 
of  Mr.  Amos  Hughes.  Messrs.  Pritchett,  Car- 
274 


"EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN" 

ver,  and  Pritchett,  Solicitors  at  Law,  of  Lon 
don,  are  our  principals.  The  advertisement  was 
in  relation  to  a  person  called  Alys  Winton." 

Luther,  stumbling  in  his  astonishment  over 
his  words,  began  to  explain.  "  Mrs.  Gray  is 
dead,"  he  ended.  "And  Alice  is  her  daughter; 
isn't  she,  Dr.  Lavendar?  She  asked  me  to  write 
to  you." 

"  Well,  well ;  this  is  very  interesting,"  said 
Dr.  Lavendar.  "  I  hope  your  object  in  seeking 
to  obtain  information  is  to  benefit  this  young 
lady?  She's  one  of  my  children." 

Mr.  Carter,  still  standing  in  the  doorway, 
smiled,  and  said,  "  Do  I  understand  that  this 
Miss  Alice  is  the  daughter  of  the  person  named 
Alys  Winton?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar.  "  You  can  easily 
satisfy  yourself  on  that  point  by  consulting  my 
parish  records." 

"  And  her  mother  is  the  lady  you  advertised 
for!"  cried  Luther.  The  boy  was  red  with  ex 
citement.  It  was  just  as  Alice  said — a  story 
book.  And  they  could  get  married  right  away ! 
For  it  would  be  a  lot  of  money — perhaps 
$5000;  people  in  England  didn't  advertise 
for  information  of  a  person  dead  for  twenty- 
two  years  for  any  small  amount ;  well,  even  if  it 
275 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

were  $4000,  they  could  get  married;  even  if  it 
were  $3000.  "  How  m — "  he  began,  and  stop 
ped;  of  course  that  was  not  a  proper  question. 
"  Alice's  mother  is  the  lady  you  advertised 
about,"  he  said,  lamely. 

"  Well,  that  does  not  follow,  young  gentle 
man ;  but  the  coincidence  of  the  name  was  of 
sufficient  interest  for  our  firm  to  feel  that  I 
might,  perhaps,  just  look  into  it.  There  may 
be  dozens  of  Alys  Wintons,  you  know." 

"  Oh,"  said  Luther,  so  blankly  that  Dr. 
Lavendar  laughed. 

"  Perhaps  before  beginning  at  the  beginning 
you  might  save  time  by  looking  at  the  end," 
he  said  to  the  lawyer.  "  If  you  will  step  over 
to  my  church,  you  will  see  that  our  little  Alice 
here  is  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Robert  Gray  and  a 
lady  named  Alys  Winton." 

"  A  very  good  idea,  sir.  You,  I  infer,  are  a 
clergyman  in  this  place?  Ah,  yes;  just  so. 
Lavendar?  Ah,  yes.  I  shall  be  pleased  to  look 
at  the  records,  as  you  suggest,  sir." 

Luther,  rather  abashed,  longing  to  accompany 
them,  stood  waiting  for  an  invitation.  But 
none  came.  Dr.  Lavendar  went  pounding  down 
the  stairs,  followed  by  Mr.  Carter,  and  Lute 
heard  them  talking  about  the  roughness  of  the 
276 


"EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN'1 

road  from  Mercer  over  which  Mr.  Carter  had 
come  on  the  morning  stage. 

"  Confound  the  road !"  said  Lute  to  himself. 
"  Hi !  Davidson !  I'm  going  out.  The  first 
page  is  all  made  up;  you  can  close  up  the 
fourth."  Then  he  dashed  down  the  creaking 
stairs  and  out  into  the  hot  sunshine.  He  had  a 
glimpse  up  the  street  of  the  church,  and  Dr. 
Lavendar  bending  down  fumbling  with  the  key 
of  the  vestry  door ;  it  was  evident  that  Luther's 
presence  was  not  considered  necessary.  ;<  I  don't 
care,"  the  boy  said  to  himself,  joyously,  and 
started  at  a  swinging  pace  out  over  the  hill. 
"  I'll  be  the  one  to  tell  her,  anyhow !"  His  face 
was  all  aglow.  As  he  hurried  along  he  made 
calculations  as  to  the  rent  of  the  little  house.  To 
be  sure,  he  was  reckoning  on  Alice's  money ;  but 
the  boy  was  so  honest,  and  so  in  love,  that  he  had 
no  mean  self -consciousness  of  that  kind.  ;<  We 
can  get  married!'9  He  had  no  room  for  any 
other  thought. 

Mrs.  Gray  was  sitting  on  the  back  porch 
shelling  pease ;  there  was  a  grape  trellis  running 
out  from  the  porch  roof,  and  under  it  the 
shadows  lay  cool  and  pleasant  on  the  damp  flag 
stones.  Rebecca,  absorbed  in  the  lulling  snap 
of  pods,  looked  up,  frowning,  at  the  noisy  in- 
277 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

tcrruption,  for  the  young  man  burst  in,  breath 
less,  swinging  his  cap,  his  eyes  shining. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Gray,  where's  Alice?  Oh,  my, 
such  news !  I  never  was  so  excited  in  my  life !" 

"  That  is  not  saying  much,"  Rebecca  told 
him ;  "  you've  not  had  a  very  exciting  life. 
Alice  is  in  the  dining-room.  Alice!  come  out 
here.  Here's  Luther.  He  says  he  never  was  so 
excited  in  his  life ;  and  I  hope  he  won't  be  again, 
for  he  has  upset  my  bucket  of  pods." 

Luther,  full  of  apologies,  began  to  pick  them 
up.  "  I'm  so  sorry,  but  I  was  so  dreadfully  ex 
cited—" 

"  Dreadful  is  a  large  word,"  Rebecca  said. 
"  I  doubt  whether  either  you  or  I  have  ever  seen 
anything  '  dreadful '  in  our  lives.  Don't  ex 
aggerate,  Luther." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  Lute  said.  "Oh,  there's 
Alice!  Alice!'9  He  stood  up,  his  hands  full  of 
pods,  his  face  red.  "  Oh,  Alice,  what  do  you 
suppose  has  happened?  You'll  never  guess!" 

"  The  advertisement  man !"  cried  Alice.  Lu 
ther's  face  fell  a  little,  and  he  laughed. 

"  Well,  you're  pretty  smart.     Yes,  it  is— 

"  What?"  said  Rebecca  Gray.  As  for  Alice, 
she  whirled  out  on  the  cool  flags  and  jumped  up 
and  down. 

278 


"  EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN" 

"  Oh,  Lute,  tell  us— tell  us !  What  does  he 
say?  Has  he  sent  some  money?  Oh,  how  much 
is  it?  Oh,  Lute,  we'll  pay  for  the  press.  Lute, 
is  it — is  it  $1000?  Tell  us ;  hurry,  hurry !" 

Upon  which  Lute  began  to  subside.  "  Well, 
it  isn't  quite — I  mean,  he  didn't — he  hasn't  said 
just  exactly  how  much.  I  mean,  of  course,  I 
suppose,  it  isn't  certain ;  but  I'm  sure  there  isn't 
a  particle  of  doubt ;  only — ' 

"  Now,  Lute,  begin  at  the  beginning  and  tell 
us."  Alice  sat  down  breathlessly  beside  her 
step-mother,  and  began  mechanically  to  shell 
the  pease. 

"  Don't,"  Rebecca  said ;  "  I  will  do  my  own 
work.  You'd  better  get  your  table-cloth  and 
finish  that  darning."  Her  face  had  grown  quite 
pale;  she  saw  the  fabric  of  her  life  crumbling 
at  the  base ;  if,  through  that  first  wife,  money 
should  come  into  the  family,  what  use  for  her 
patient  economies?  What  use  for  her  existence? 
That  first  wife,  yet  more  perfect,  would  crowd 
her  further  from  her  husband's  life.  In  her 
heart,  used  to  the  long,  dull  ache  of  unloved 
years,  rose  up  a  murderous  hatred  of  the  dead 
woman.  At  first  she  hardly  heard  Luther's  story, 
but  as  it  went  on  she  began  to  listen  and  the 
pain  in  her  tightened  throat  of  unshed  tears 
«o  279 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

lessened.  It  might  not  be.  As  this  Mr.  Carter 
said,  there  might  be  dozens  of  Alys  Wintons. 
Her  hands,  motionless  after  the  first  shock,  went 
at  their  work  again. 

"  You're  the  daughter  of  a  lady  of  that 
name,"  she  said,  coldly ;  "  but  she  may  not  be 
the  lady  they  want.  Better  not  count  on  it." 
Alice  looked  rather  blank  for  a  moment;  and 
then  she  burst  into  even  more  than  Luther's 
confidence. 

"Do  you  suppose  it  will  be  $2000?  Oh, 
Lute,  just  think,  we'll  pay  for  the  new  press 
right  down!" 

"  No,  we  won't,  either,"  Lute  said,  stoutly. 
"  I'm  not  going  to  let  you  spend  your  money 
on  printing-presses." 

"  Nonsense  !"  Alice  cried,  laughing  and  stamp 
ing  her  foot. 

Rebecca  frowned  and  looked  at  her  over  her 
glasses.  "  Don't  be  unlady-like,  Alice." 

"  No,  'm,"  Alice  said ;  and  then  she  laughed  at 
her  own  excitement ;  "  it  may  be  only  $100." 

"  It  may  be  nothing  at  all,"  Rebecca  Gray 
said,  and  got  up  and  took  her  pan  and  bucket 
and  went  into  the  house.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
if  she  had  to  hear  any  more  of  Alys  Winton  she 
would  speak  out  and  say  some  dreadful  thing 
280 


"EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN' 

about  her.  But  what  could  she  say  with  any 
kind  of  truth?  What  could  she  say  ill  of  that 
poor  creature,  so  beloved  and  so  harmless?  For, 
after  all,  though  a  woman  ought  to  see  that  a 
man's  buttons  are  sewed  on,  you  can't  say  that 
mere  shiftlessness  is  a  sin.  Besides,  she  was  sick 
for  those  few  months.  "  Perhaps  if  my  health 
hadn't  been  good,  I  would  have  been  careless 
myself,"  Rebecca  thought,  with  painful  justice. 
But  she  went  up-stairs  to  her  own  room  and  lock 
ed  the  door.  She  felt  sure  that  it  was  as  Alice 
and  Luther  said :  there  would  be  money,  and  she 
would  be  of  still  less  consequence  to  her  husband ; 
for  what  did  Robert  Gray,  nervously  polite, 
really  care  for  her  economies  and  her  good  house 
keeping? 

"  Not  that!"  she  said  to  herself,  bitterly. 


IV 


"  You  will  stay  and  have  dinner  with  me,"  Dr. 
Lavcndar  had  told  the  lawyer,  hospitably,  "  and 
then  Goliath  and  I  will  take  you  up  the  hill  to 
Mr.  Gray's  house." 

And  so,  in  the  early  afternoon,  Goliath 
brought  Mr.  Carter  to  the  Grays'  door.  Alice, 
who  was  on  the  porch,  insisted  that  Dr.  Laven- 
dar  should  come  in,  too;  she  leaned  into  the 
buggy  to  whisper,  joyously,  "  If  it  is  anything 
nice,  I  want  you  to  hear  it." 

But  for  once  Dr.  Lavendar  did  not  laugh  and 
give  her  a  kiss  and  call  her  his  good-for-nothing ; 
he  got  out  silently,  and  followed  Mr.  Carter 
into  the  parlor,  where  Luther  and  Mrs.  Gray 
were  awaiting  them.  There  was  a  tense  feel 
ing  of  expectation  in  the  air.  The  two  young 
people  were  together  on  the  sofa,  smiling  and 
laughing,  with  small,  whispered  jokes  of  presses 
and  diamond  -  rings  and  mortgages.  Rebecca 
sat  by  the  table,  her  worn  hands  in  a  trembling 
grip  in  her  lap;  she  sat  very  upright,  and  was 


"  EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN' 

briefer  and  curter  than  ever,  and  she  looked  most 
of  the  time  at  the  floor. 

"  You  have  been  informed  of  my  errand, 
madam?"  said  Mr.  Carter.  "  It  is  unfortunate 
that  Mr.  Gray  is  not  at  home,  but  perhaps  you 
may  be  able  to  give  us  some  information  on  cer 
tain  points,  which  will  at  least  instruct  me  as  to 
whether  the  facts  in  the  case  warrant  further 
reference  to  him  for  confirmation.  I  will  ask  a 
few  questions,  if  you  please?" 

"  Go  on,"  Rebecca  said. 

"The  late  Mrs.  Gray,  the  mother  of  this 
young  lady,"  said  Mr.  Carter — "  do  you  happen 
to  know  her  nationality?" 

"  English." 

"  Ah,  yes.  Just  so.  And  do  you  know  the 
date  of  her  marriage  to  Mr.  Gray  ?" 

Rebecca  gave  it. 

"  If  any  facts  in  regard  to  her  occur  to 
you — "  the  lawyer  began. 

"  I've  heard  Mr.  Gray  say  that  she  was  a 
governess  in  the  family  of  a  Mr.  Urquhart," 
Rebecca  said ;  and  added,  "  They  discharged  her 
in  Berlin." 

Mr.  Carter,  glancing  at  a  memorandum,  his 
face  keen  with  interest,  said,  eagerly,  "  Pray 
proceed,  madam." 

283 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

"  I  don't  know  much  more ;  Mr.  Gray  met  her 
in  Interlaken.  They  were  married  three  weeks 
afterwards." 

"  Ah,  Switzerland  ?  That  explains ;  there  was 
no  record  of  a  marriage  at  the  Embassy.  Can 
you  tell  me  anything  of  the  parentage  of  the 
lady?" 

"  Her  father's  name  was  George  Winton," 
Alice  broke  in,  "  and  they  lived  in  a  place  called 
Medfield.  He  was  a  clergyman.  Her  mother's 
name  was  Alys,  too.  Father  has  a  prayer-book 
belonging  to  my  grandmother ;  it  has  her  name 
in  it,  and  my  mother's.  Would  you  like  to  see 
it,  sir?" 

"  Exceedingly,"  Mr.  Carter  said ;  and  while 
Alice  ran  to  get  the  book,  he  studied  his  memo 
randum  so  closely  that  no  one  dared  to  ask  him 
a  question,  if,  indeed,  any  one  wanted  to.  Re 
becca  had  answered  him  dully,  looking  out  of 
the  window  part  of  the  time,  part  of  the  time  at 
the  floor.  Dr.  Lavcndar,  on  the  other  side  of 
the  room,  his  hands  on  the  head  of  his  cane,  sat 
silently  staring  down  at  the  carpet,  his  face 
heavy  and  rather  stern.  Lute,  radiant,  twirled 
his  cap  in  his  hands,  and  resolutely  held  his 
tongue. 

Alice,  as  she  handed  the  prayer-book  to  Mr. 
284 


"EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN" 

Carter,  stopped  on  her  way  back  to  Luther  and 
squeezed  Dr.  Lavendar's  hand.  "  Isn't  it  won 
derful?"  she  whispered;  and  he  shook  his  head  a 
little  impatiently. 

"  Go  and  sit  down,  my  dear,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Carter,  glancing  at  the  name  on  the  fly 
leaf,  looked  at  his  notes  again  and  then  at  Alice, 
"  And  this  young  lady — can  she  give  me  the 
date  of  her  birth?" 

There  was  a  little  laugh,  and  Luther  and  Alice 
gave  it  together,  eagerly. 

There  were  two  or  three  more  questions,  and 
then  Mr.  Carter  folded  his  memorandum  and 
slipped  it  within  its  rubber  band  with  a  snap; 
then  he  smiled.  Rebecca  looked  at  him  drearily. 
"  Of  course,"  he  said,  addressing  himself  to  her, 
"  a  question  of  identity  cannot  be  decided  off 
hand;  it  is  necessary  to  have  certain  affidavits 
which  the  surviving  husband  of  the  deceased 
(who  is  asserted  to  be  the  person  in  question) 
would  be  obliged,  legally,  to  furnish.  I  think, 
however,  that  I  am  not  going  beyond  the  line  of 
discretion  and  propriety  if  I  say  that  if  Mr. 
Robert  Gray  can  produce  such  proofs  (which  I 
think  I  am  not  unwarranted  in  saying  I  believe 
he  can) — if  he  can,  then  this  young  lady  is  the 
heir  to  a  very  considerable  fortune.  I  think,  in 
285 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

point  of  fact,  I  have  the  right  to  say  that,  if 
(as  I  have  said  before)  these  proofs  are  forth 
coming,  the  amount  to  be  paid  to  the  daughter 
of  Alys  Winton  is  £5000." 

Rebecca  Gray  put  her  hand  to  her  mouth 
and  stared  blindly  at  the  floor.  Dr.  Lavendar 
thrust  out  his  lower  lip  and  frowned.  As  for 
Alice,  she  laughed  aloud,  then  burst  out  crying. 

"  Oh,  Lute!"  she  said,  tremulously ;  and,  some 
how,  the  two  children  found  themselves  holding 
hands.  "  It's — it's  so  much  !"  she  faltered. 

"  Five  thousand  pounds  is — is  $25,000 !"  the 
boy  said,  turning  pale.  There  was  a  pause; 
no  one  seemed  to  know  just  what  to  say.  Then 
Lute,  suddenly :  "  Is  it  your  mother's  father 
that  left  it  to  you,  Alice?" 

She  turned  to  Mr.  Carter,  drawing  in  her 
breath  like  a  child.  "Is  it?" 

"  Ah — no,"  he  answered,  briefly. 

"  But  I  didn't  know  my  mother  had  any  rela 
tions?"  Alice  said,  in  a  dazed  way;  "  I  thought 
father  said — I'm  sure  he  said — she  hadn't  any 
relations?  Perhaps — perhaps  it  is  a  mistake, 
after  all?" 

'  The  testator  was  not  a  relative  of  the  Alys 
Winton    in    question,"    Mr.    Carter    said.      He 
glanced   uneasily   at   Dr.   Lavendar,   who   lifted 
286 


"  EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN" 

his  head  and  looked  at  him  searchingly.  "  It 
will  be  best  to  make  further  explanations  to  Mr. 
Gray,"  Mr.  Carter  said,  hurriedly. 

"  But  who  has  left  the  money  to  me — if  it  is 
to  me?"  Alice  said,  bewildered.  "  Can't  I  ask 
that?  What  is  the  name  of  the  kind  person? 
I  think  I  might  ask  that." 

"  The  name  of  the  testator  was  Urquhart," 
Mr.  Carter  said,  "  but — but,  you  know,  my 
dear  young  lady,  the  identity  is  not  yet  legal 
ly  authenticated ;  so  —  therefore  —  perhaps  — 
I  think,  Dr.  Lavendar,  I  had  best  go  now? 
I  think  you  mentioned  that  the  stage  leaves  at 
four?" 

"  Urquhart  ?"  Alice  said ;  "  the  man  who  was 
so  unkind?  Oh,  Lute,  I  suppose  he  repented. 
Oh,  how  astonished  father  will  be !  He'll  have 
to  forgive  him  now." 

"  It's  a  pretty  late  repentance,"  Luther  said, 
with  a  chuckle ;  "  and  how  did  he  know  about 
you,  Alice?  I  don't  see  why  he  should  leave 
you  money,  even  if  he  was  a  brute  to  your 
mother.  Still,"  said  the  boy,  gayly,  "  I  guess 
we  won't  complain?" 

"  Gracious !"  cried  Alice,  "  that  is  queer. 
Well,  he  was  a  kind  person !" 

Rebecca  Gray  stared,  frowning,  at  the  law- 
287 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

yer.     "  He  knew — this  Urquhart — that  she  had 
a  child?"  she  said,  slowly. 

Mr.  Carter  was  gathering  up  his  papers. 
"  Yes,"  he  said—"  yes ;  he— knew  it." 

"  What?"  said  Rebecca,  in  a  very  low  voice — 
"  what?" 

"  In  view  of  the  fact  that,  legally,  the  matter 
is  still  undecided,"  Mr.  Carter  said,  hurriedly, 
"  perhaps  we  need  not  take  this  point  up?  At 
all  events,  not  here." 

"  Sir,"  said  Rebecca,  "  why  does  Mr.  Urqu 
hart  leave  £5000  to  Robert  Gray's  daughter?" 

"  He  was  sorry  he  was  unkind  to  my  mother," 
Alice  said,  her  voice  quivering.  ("  Oh,  Lute, 
$25,000!") 

"  Alice,"  her  step-mother  said,  in  a  loud,  harsh 
voice,  "  you  had  better  leave  the  room.  Luther, 
go  with  Alice,  please." 

The  two  young  people,  bewildered,  got  up 
with  blank  faces,  and  with  obvious  reluctance 
obeyed.  "  But  why  should  I  be  sent  out,  Lute  ?" 
Alice  said,  hotly,  when  they  were  in  the  hall. 
"  It's  my  money — if  I'm  the  person." 

Luther   stopped,   and   stood,    frowning.      On 
the  boy's  open,  honest   face  came  a  perplexed 
look.     But  Alice  said  again,  in  injured  tones, 
that  she  didn't  know  what  Mrs.  Gray  meant. 
288 


4  '  WHAT   IS   THE   NAME   OF    THE    KIND    PERSON?' 


"EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN' 

In  the  parlor  the  three  elders  looked  at  each 
other  in  silence.  Mrs.  Gray  had  risen,  and  stood 
leaning  forward,  her  trembling  hands  flat  on 
the  table. 

"  I  don't — understand,"  she  said. 

"  Mr.  Carter,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar,  "  certain 
remarks  of  yours  on  our  way  up  here  made  me 
apprehensive.  I  see  that  my  friend,  Mrs.  Gray, 
is  also — apprehensive.  I  would  suggest  that  you 
have  a  few  words  with  her  alone.  I  will  leave 
you." 

"  No,"  Rebecca  said ;  "  hear  the  end  of  it." 
Her  hard  face  was  red  and  hot.  "  Why  does  Mr. 
Urquhart  leave  the  child  of  Robert  Gray  £5000? 
Why?" 

"  It  is  as  I  think  you  surmise,  madam,"  John 
Carter  said,  gravely. 

Rebecca  recoiled,  with  a  broken  exclamation 
of  horror. 

Dr.  Lavendar  drew  in  his  breath.  "  Oh,  my 
poor  Robert !"  he  said. 

"  It  is  so  stated  in  the  will,"  the  lawyer  went 
on;  there  is  no  disguising  it;  nor,  as  far  as  I 
can  see,  can  it  be  hidden  from  the  legatee.  The 
directions  for  finding  this  heir  make  the  thing 
explicit.  The  testator  states  that  he  received 
information  of  the  expected  birth  of  his  child 
19  289 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

after  the  marriage  of  the  person  in  question, 
who  did  not  mention  her  married  name — hence 
our  difficulty  in  tracing  her." 

Rebecca,  her  eyes  narrowing  into  a  cruel  smile, 
sat  down  and  rocked  backward  and  forward  in 
her  chair. 

"Dreadful— dreadful— dreadful!"  she  said, 
aloud,  exultantly. 


V. 


THE  last  quarter  of  an  hour,  packed  with  tragic 
revelation,  lost  Mr.  Carter  the  stage. 

"  I  hope  you  will  put  up  at  the  Rectory,  sir," 
Dr.  Lavendar  said,  as  they  drove  away  from 
Robert  Gray's  door. 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Carter. 

Then  they  fell  into  silence — Mr.  Carter  from 
politeness,  Dr.  Lavendar  from  horror.  He  was 
going  back  in  his  memory  with  painful  effort; 
but  it  was  all  very  vague.  .  .  .  He  had  hardly 
known  her;  she  had  been  ill  for  those  months 
that  she  had  been  in  Old  Chester,  and  she  had 
made  it  very  clear  that  she  did  not  care  to  see 
people.  He  thought  of  her  beautiful,  sullen 
face ;  of  Robert  Gray's  passionate  devotion ; 
of  Old  Chester's  silent  disapproval.  .  .  .  He 
groaned  to  himself,  and  John  Carter  looked  at 
him  sidewise. 

After  supper  at  the  Rectory,  they  sat  down 
to  smoke  in  heavy  silence;  Mr.  Carter  respected 
the  old  man's  distress,  but  wondered  if  he  should 
291 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

not  have  been  more  comfortable  with  Van  Horn 
at  the  Tavern.  The  glowing  July  day  had 
darkened  into  rainy  night,  with  a  grumble  of 
thunder  back  among  the  hills ;  but  in  the  midst 
of  a  sudden  downpour  they  heard  footsteps  on 
the  path,  and  then  some  one  pushed  open  the 
hall  door,  and  flapped  a  wet  umbrella  on  the 
steps  before  entering.  A  minute  later  Luther 
Metcalf  stood,  hesitating,  on  the  study  threshold. 

"  Dr.  Lavendar — " 

The  old  man  got  up  hurriedly.  "  Yes,  Lute. 
Come  into  the  dining-room.  You  will  excuse 
me,  sir?"  he  said  to  Mr.  Carter.  He  put  his 
hand  on  Lute's  arm,  in  a  friendly  grip,  for  there 
was  a  break  in  the  boy's  voice. 

"  I  know  about  it,"  Lute  said.  They  sat  down 
at  the  dining-room  table;  Lute  swallowed  hard, 
and  pulled  with  trembling  fingers  at  his  hatband  ; 
he  did  not  lift  his  eyes.  "  And — and  I  want 
you  to  tell  her  not  to  take  it." 

"How  is  she,  Lute?" 

"  I  haven't  seen  her.  She  wouldn't  come 
down-stairs.  She  sent  me  a  little  note,"  Luther 
said,  taking  it  out  of  his  breast-pocket,  and  then 
putting  it  back  again  tenderly.  "  'Course  I 
won't  pay  any  attention  to  it." 

"  Saying  she'd  release  you,  I  suppose?" 
292 


"EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN' 

"  Yes ;  but  that's  nothing.  I'll  make  her  un 
derstand  the  minute  I  see  her.  But,  Dr.  Laven 
dar,  I  don't  want  that — that  money!"  the  boy 
ended,  almost  with  a  sob.  "  I  want  you  to  tell 
her  not  to  take  it." 

Dr.  Lavendar  was  silent. 

"  At  first  I  thought— I  couldn't  help  think 
ing — we  could  get  married  right  off.  We  could 
get  married  and  have  a  home  of  our  own;  you 
know,  we'd  be  rich  people  with  all  that  money. 
And  I  suppose,  honestly,  that  as  things  are  now, 
there's  no  chance  of  our  getting  married  for  a 
good  while.  But  I — I  tell  you  what,  sir.  I'd 
rather  never  get  married  than — than  touch  that 
money !" 

Dr.  Lavendar  nodded. 

"You  won't  let  her,  sir?  You'll  make  her 
give  it  back?" 

"  My  dear  boy,  I  can't  '  make '  Alice  do  any 
thing.  The  money  is  hers." 

"  Oh,  but  Dr.  Lavendar,  won't  you  go 
and  talk  to  her?  It  may  be  a  temptation 
to  her,  just  as  it  was  to  me,  for  a  minute. 
We  could  just  make  the  office  hum,  sir.  We 
could  put  it  right  on  its  feet;  we  could 
have  a  real  Daily.  I  know  she'll  think  of 
that.  /  just  thought  we  could  get  married. 
293 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

But  Alice  will  think  about  helping  the  office, 
and  me." 

"  Of  course  the  money  would  bring  ease  to  her 
father —  Dr.  Lavendar  stopped  abruptly. 

"  Oh,  my  God!'9  Lute  said,  and  dropped  his 
head  on  his  arms. 

"  Bring  ease  to — to  the  family,"  Dr.  Laven 
dar  ended  lamely. 

"  You  know  Mr.  Gray  won't  touch  it,"  Lute 
burst  out ;  "  and  I  can't  let  Alice,  either.  Dr. 
Lavendar,  I  thought  maybe  you'd  let  me  hitch 
Goliath  up  and  drive  you  out  to  the  house?" 

"  Not  to-night,  Lute.  Alice  has  got  to  be 
alone.  Poor  child,  poor  child !  Yes ;  we've  all 
of  us  got  to  meet  the  devil  alone.  Temptation 
is  a  lonely  business,  Lute.  To-morrow  I'll  go, 
of  course.  Did  you  answer  her  note  ?" 

"  Oh  yes;  right  off.  I  just  said,  'Don't  be 
foolish,'  and — and  some  other  things.  I  didn't 
tell  her  we  mustn't  take  the  money,  because  I 
hadn't  thought  of  it  then.  Mrs.  Gray  said  she 
wouldn't  come  out  of  her  room.  Oh,  just  think 
of  her,  all  by  herself!"  Luther  bent  over  and 
fumbled  with  his  shoelace;  when  he  looked  up, 
Dr.  Lavendar  pretended  not  to  see  his  eyes. 

When  the  boy  went  away,  Dr.  Lavendar  went 
back  to  the  study  and  asked  John  Carter  some 
294 


"EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN' 

legal  questions :  Suppose  he  had  not  found  this 
child,  what  would  have  become  of  the  money? 
Suppose  the  child  should  now  decline  to  take  it, 
what  then? 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Carter,  smiling,  "  as  a  re 
mote  contingency,  I  suppose  I  might  reply  that 
it  would  revert  to  the  residuary  estate.  But  did 
you  ever  know  anybody  decline  £5000,  Dr. 
Lavendar?" 

"  Never  knew  anybody  who  had  the  chance," 
Dr.  Lavendar  said ;  "  but  there's  no  telling  what 
human  critters  will  do." 

"  They  won't  do  that,"  said  John  Carter. 

What  a  long  night  it  was,  of  rain  and  wind 
and  dreadful  thought !  .  .  .  Rebecca  had  told 
Alice,  with  kindness,  but  with  such  a  grip  upon 
herself  lest  exultation  should  tremble  in  her 
voice,  that  she  seemed  harsher  than  ever.  Then 
she  told  Lute.  He  pleaded  that  Alice  would 
speak  to  him,  and  Mrs.  Gray  had  gone  to  the 
girl's  room  and  bidden  her  come  down-stairs. 

"  Come,  Alice.  You  must  control  yourself. 
Come  down  and  talk  to  Luther." 

Alice  shook  her  head.  "  I'll — write  him  a 
note." 

Mrs.  Gray  carried  the  note  back  to  Lute,  and 
295 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

brought  up  the  answer,  which  Alice  read  silent 
ly.  Rebecca  watched  her;  and  then,  with  an 
effort,  she  said : 

"  Alice,  remember  we  are  not  to  judge.  We 
don't  understand.  We  must  not  judge.  Good 
night."  She  opened  the  door,  and  then  looked 
at  the  child,  seated,  speechless,  with  blank  eyes^ 
on  the  edge  of  the  bed.  "  Good-night,  Alice. 
I — I'm  sorry  for  you,  poor  girl!"  and  she  came 
back  hastily  and  kissed  her. 

At  that,  even  in  her  daze  of  horror,  a  glimmer 
of  astonishment  came  into  Alice's  face.  But  she 
did  not  look  up  or  speak.  When  it  grew  dark, 
she  began  mechanically  to  get  ready  for  bed; 
she  knelt  down,  as  usual,  at  the  big  chintz- 
covered  winged  chair  and  began  to  say  her 
prayers,  her  mind  blind  as  to  her  own  words : 
"  Bless  dear  father—  Then  she  cried  out,  sud 
denly  and  dreadfully,  and  covered  her  poor, 
shamed  head  with  her  arms,  and  prayed  no  more. 
Then  came  a  long  fit  of  crying,  and  then  a 
dreary  calm.  Afterwards,  as  the  night  shut  in 
with  rain  and  rumble  of  thunder,  the  shame 
lightened  a  little,  for, though  she  could  not  read  it 
in  the  darkness,  she  held  Lute's  little  note  against 
her  lips  and  kissed  it,  and  cried  over  it,  and  said 
his  words  over  to  herself,  and  felt  that  at  any 
296 


SHE     KNELT     DOWN,      AS     USUAL,      AT      THE      BIG 
CHINTZ-COVERED    WINGED    CHAIR  " 


'EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN'1 

rate  there  was  one  bright  spot  in  it  all:  Lute 
would  never  have  any  more  anxieties.  Of  Robert 
Gray  she  thought  pitifully,  but  with  not  much 
understanding.  Oh,  dreadful,  dreadful!  But 
he  had  loved  his  wife  so  much  (so  the  child 
thought)  he  would  surely  forgive  her.  Not 
knowing  how  little  forgiveness  counts  for  when 
a  star  goes  out.  Sometimes,  sitting  there  on 
the  floor,  listening  to  the  rain,  she  slept;  then 
woke,  with  a  numb  wonder,  which  darkened  into 
cruel  understanding.  Shame;  shame — but  Lute 
wouldn't  be  worried  any  more;  Lute  would  be 
rich. 

So  the  night  passed.   .   .   . 

Rebecca  Gray  did  not  sleep.  When  the  house 
was  still  she  went  up-stairs,  eager  to  be  alone. 
She  shut  her  bedroom  door  softly;  then  she 
put  her  brass  candlestick  on  the  high  bureau 
and  looked  about  her.  .  .  .  Everything  seemed 
strange.  Here  was  her  old-fashioned  bed  with 
its  four  mahogany  posts  like  four  slender 
obelisks;  there  was  the  fine  darn  in  the  valance 
of  the  tester ;  the  worn  strip  of  carpet  on  which 
she  had  knelt  every  night  for  all  these  twenty 
years ;  it  was  all  the  same,  but  it  was  all  differ 
ent,  all  unfamiliar.  The  room  was  suddenly 
the  room  where  that  woman  had  died;  the  old 
297 


DR.   LAVENDAR'S   PEOPLE 

four-poster  was  the  bed  of  that  heartbreaking 
night,  with  sheets  rumpling  under  a  wandering 
hand  and  pillows  piled  beneath  a  beautiful, 
dying  head;  not  her  own  bed,  smooth  and  de 
corous  and  neat,  with  her  own  fine  darn  in  the 
tester  valance.  She  did  not  know  the  room  as 
it  was  now;  she  did  not  know  herself;  nor 
Robert;  nor  that — that — that  woman.  She  sat 
down,  suddenly  a  little  faint  with  the  effort  of 
readjusting  a  belief  of  twenty -two  years.  "  She 
was  a  wicked  woman,"  she  said,  out  loud;  and 
her  astounded  face  stared  back  at  her  from  the 
dim  mirror  over  the  mantel-piece.  After  a  while 
she  got  up  and  began  to  walk  back  and  forth; 
sometimes  she  drew  a  deep  breath ;  once  she 
laughed.  "  A  wicked  woman !"  .  .  .  Now  he 
would  know.  Now  he  would  sec.  And  he  would 
loathe  her.  He  would  hate  her.  He  would— 
her  lip  drooped  suddenly  from  its  fierce,  un 
conscious  smile;  he  would — suffer.  Yes;  suffer, 
of  course.  But  that  couldn't  be  helped.  Just 
at  first  he  would  suffer.  Then  he  would  hate  her 
so  much  that  he  would  not  suffer.  Not  suffer? 
It  came  over  her  with  a  pang  that  there  is  no 
suffering  so  dreadful  as  that  which  comes  with 
hating.  However,  she  could  not  help  that. 
Truth  was  truth !  All  the  years  of  her  hungry 
298 


"EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN" 

wifehood  rose  up,  eager  for  revenge;  her  mind 
went  hurriedly,  with  ecstasy,  over  the  contrast; 
her  painful,  patient,  conscientious  endeavor  to 
do  her  best  for  him.  Her  self-sacrifice,  her 
actual  deprivations — "  I  haven't  had  a  new  bon 
net  for — for  four  years  !"  she  thought ;  and  her 
lip  quivered  at  the  pitifulness  of  so  slight  a 
thing.  But  it  was  the  whole  tenor  of  her  life. 
She  had  no  vacations  in  the  mountains;  she 
would  have  liked  new  valances,  but  she  spent 
hours  in  darning  her  old  ones  to  save  his  money ; 
she  had  turned  her  black  silk  twice ;  she  had  only 
had  two  black  silks  in  twenty  years.  All  the 
great  things  she  had  done,  all  the  petty  things 
she  had  suffered,  rose  up  in  a  great  wave  of 
merit  before  her;  and  against  it  —  what? 
Hideous  deceit!  Oh,  how  he  would  despise  the 
creature!  Then  she  winced;  he  would — suffer? 
Well,  she  couldn't  help  that.  It  was  the  truth, 
and  he  had  got  to  face  it.  She  was  walking  up 
and  down,  whispering  to  herself,  a  sobbing  laugh 
on  her  lips,  when  suddenly,  as  she  passed  the 
mirror,  she  had  a  dim,  crazy  vision  of  herself 
that  struck  her  motionless.  A  moment  later  she 
took  the  candle,  and  with  one  hand  clutching  for 
support  at  the  high  mantel-shelf — for  her  knees 
were  shaking  under  her — held  it  close  to  the 
299 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

glass  and  peered  into  the  black  depths.  Her 
pale,  quivering  face,  ravaged  with  tears,  stared 
back  at  her,  like  some  poor  ghost  more  ugly 
even  than  in  life.  "  A  wicked  woman."  Yes — 
yes — yes ;  and  he  would  have  to  know  it.  But 
when  he  knew  it,  what  then?  If  his  eyes  opened 
to  sin,  would  they  open  to — 

"  I  have  tried  to  make  him  comfortable,"  she 
said,  faintly. 

Suddenly  she  put  the  candle  down  and  sank 
into  a  chair,  covering  her  face  with  her  poor, 
gaunt  hands.  .  .  . 

And  so  the  night  passed.  .  .  .  The  dawn 
was  dim  and  rainy.  It  was  about  four  o'clock 
that  Alice,  sitting  on  the  floor,  sleeping  heavily, 
her  head  on  the  cushion  of  the  chair,  started, 
bewildered,  at  the  noise  of  the  opening  door. 
Rebecca,  in  her  gray  dressing-gown,  one  hand 
shielding  the  flare  of  her  candle,  came  abruptly 
into  the  room. 

"  Alice,"  she  said,  harshly,  and  stopped  by  the 
empty  bed ;  then  her  eyes  found  the  figure  on 
the  floor  ("  you  ought  to  be  in  bed  "),  she  said, 
in  a  brief  aside ;  then :  "  Alice,  I've  been  think 
ing  it  over.  You  can't  take  that  money." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  Alice  said,  confused 
with  sleep  and  tears. 

300 


"EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN' 

"  You  can't  take  that  money.  If  you  do, 
your  father  would  have  to  know.  And  he  never 
must — he  never  must." 

Alice  pulled  herself  up  from  the  floor  and 
sat  down  in  her  big  chair.  "  Not  take  the 
money  ?"  she  said,  in  a  dazed  way ;  "  but  it's 
mine." 

"That's  why  you  needn't  take  it.  Thank 
God  it  was  left  to  you,  not  just  to  '  her  heirs.' 
Alice,  I've  gone  all  over  it.  I — I  wanted  you 
to  take  it" — Rebecca's  voice  broke;  "yes,  I — 
did." 

"  Well,  it's  mine,"  Alice  repeated,  bewildered. 

Rebecca  struck  her  hands  together.  "  Yours 
not  to  take !  Don't  you  see  ?  You  can  save  your 
father." 

Alice,  cringing,  dropped  her  head  on  her 
breast  with  a  broken  word. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,"  the  older  woman  said, 
trembling.  "  He's  been  your  father  ever  since 
you  were  born.  And  it  would  be  a  pretty  re 
turn  for  his  love  to  tell  him — 

Alice  burst  out  crying;  her  step-mother  soft 
ened. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,  you  poor  girl.  But, 
oh,  Alice,  think,  think  of  your  father!"  She 
clasped  her  hands  and  stood,  trembling;  she 
301 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

took   a   step   forward,   almost   as   if   she   would 
kneel. 

"  If  he  would  feel  so  dreadfully,"  Alice  said, 
at  last,  "  why — we  needn't  tell  him  where  the 
money  comes  from." 

"  Now,  Alice,  that  is  absurd.  Of  course  he 
would  know.  He  would  have  to  know.  A  girl 
doesn't  inherit  £5000  without  her  father's  know 
ing  where  it  comes  from.  And,  anyway,  Mr. 
Carter  said  that  Mr.  Gray  would  have  to  make  a 
statement  and  swear  to  it.  Of  course  he  would — 
know." 

"  Do  you  mean  you  don't  want  me  to  have  it 
at  all?"  Alice  said,  blankly. 

"  I've  just  explained  it  to  you,"  Rebecca  said, 
her  voice  harsh  with  anxiety.  "  You  can't  have 
it." 

"  But  it's  my  money ;  I  have  a  right  to  it. 
And  it  would  make  all  the  difference  in  the 
world  to  Lute.  If  he  is  going  to  take  a  girl — 
like  me,  he  ought  to  have  the  money,  anyhow." 

"And  kill  your  father?"  Rebecca  said. 
"  Alice !  Don't  you  see,  he  must  go  on  believing 
that  she  is  " — her  voice  grew  suddenly  tender — 
"  that  she  is  '  a  creature  of  light  ?' ' 

"  I  want  Lute  to  have  the  money,"  Alice 
said. 

302 


« EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN'1 

"  Alice !"  the  other  exclaimed,  with  dismay, 
"  don't  you  think  of  your  father  at  all?  And — • 
for  your  mother's  sake." 

Alice  was  silent ;  then,  in  a  hard  voice,  "  I 
don't  like  her." 

"  Oh !"  Rebecca  cried,  and  shivered.  There 
was  a  pause ;  then  she  said,  faintly,  "  For  your 
own  sake?" 

Alice  looked  up  sullenly.  "  Nobody  need 
know;  we  would  only  say  it  had  been  left  to — 
her.  Nobody  would  know." 

Suddenly,  as  she  spoke,  despite  the  plain 
face  and  the  red  hair,  Alice  looked  like  her 
mother.  Rebecca  stepped  back  with  a  sort 
of  shock.  Alice,  crying  a  little,  got  up  and 
began  to  pull  down  her  hair  and  braid  it, 
with  unsteady  fingers.  Her  step-mother  watch 
ed  her  silently;  then  she  turned  to  go  away; 
then  came  back  swiftly,  the  tears  running  down 
her  face. 

"  Oh,  Alice,  it  is  my  fault !  I've  had  you 
twenty-two  years,  and  yet  you  are  like —  See, 
Alice,  child;  give  her  a  chance  to  be  kind  to 
him,  in  you.  Oh,  I — I  don't  know  how  to  say 
it ;  I  mean,  let  her  have  a  chance !  Oh — don't 
you  see  what  I  mean  ?  She  said  she  was  sorry !" 
All  the  harshness  had  melted  out  of  Rebecca's 
303 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

face;  she  was  nothing  but  gentleness,  the  tears 
falling  down  her  cheeks,  her  voice  broken  with 
love.  "  Alice,  be  good,  dear.  Be  good.  Be 
good.  And  I — I  will  be  pleasanter,  Alice;  I'll 
try,  indeed;  I'll  try— " 


VI 


"  WELL,"  said  Mr.  Amos  Hughes,  a  week  later, 
in  the  cool  dusk  of  Dr.  Lavendar's  study,  just 
before  tea,  "  this  is  a  most  extraordinary  situa 
tion,  sir !" 

"Will  ye  have  a  pipe?"  said  Dr.  Lavendar, 
hospitably. 

John  Carter,  his  feet  well  apart,  his  back  to 
the  fireless  grate,  his  hands  thrust  down  into  his 
pockets,  said,  looking  over  at  his  partner : 

"  Amos,  Dr.  Lavendar  once  remarked  to  me 
that  there  was  no  telling  what  human  critters 
would  do." 

Dr.  Lavendar  chuckled. 

"  Very  true,"  Amos  Hughes  admitted,  putting 
one  fat  knee  over  the  other ;  "  but  I  must  say 
that  I  never  before  knew  a  human  critter  throw 
away  £5000." 

"  I'm  sorry  you  haven't  had  better  acquaint 
ances,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar.  "  I  have.  I'm  not 
in  the  least  surprised  at  this  child's  behavior. 
Mr.  Carter,  are  you  looking  for  anything? 
20  305 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

You'll  find  a  decanter  on  the  sideboard  in  the 
next  room,  sir.  This  is  a  pretty  good  world, 
Mr.  Amos  Hughes;  I've  lived  in  it  longer  than 
you  have,  so  you'll  take  my  word  for  it.  It's  a 
pretty  good  old  world,  and  Miss  Alice  Gray 
has  simply  decided  to  do  the  natural  and  proper 
thing.  Why,  what  else  could  she  do?" 

"  I  could  mention  at  least  one  other  thing," 
said  Mr.  Carter. 

"  Extraordinary  situation !  but  I  suppose  the 
residuary  legatees  won't  make  any  objection," 
murmured  Amos  Hughes. 

Dr.  Lavendar  rapped  on  the  table  with  the 
bowl  of  his  pipe.  "  My  dear  sir,  would  you  have 
a  girl,  for  a  paltry  £5000,  break  her  father's 
heart?" 

"Her  father?" 

"  Mr.  Gray  would  not,  in  my  judgment,  sur 
vive  such  a  revelation,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar, 
stiffly. 

"  May  I  ask  one  question?"  John  Carter  said. 

"  G'on,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar. 

"  What  I  would  like  to  know  is :  How  did  you 
bring  Miss  Gray  to  look  at  the  thing  in  this 
way?" 

"  I  didn't  bring  her,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar,  in 
dignantly  ;  "  her  Heavenly  Father  brought  her. 
306 


"EXCEEDING   HIGH   MOUNTAIN'1 

Look  here,  sir;  this  business  of  the  law  is  all 
very  well,  and  necessary,  I  suppose,  in  its  way, 
but  let  me  tell  you,  it's  a  dangerous  business. 
You  see  so  much  of  the  sin  of  human  nature  that 
you  get  to  thinking  human  nature  has  got  to 
sin.  You  are  mistaken,  sir;  it  has  got  to  be 
decent.  We  are  the  children  of  God,  sir.  I  beg 
that  you'll  remember  that — and  then  you  won't 
be  surprised  when  a  child  like  our  Alice  does 
the  right  thing.  Surprise  is  confession,  Mr. 
Carter." 

Mr.  Carter  laughed,  and  apologized  as  best 
he  could  for  his  view  of  human  nature ;  and 
Dr.  Lavendar  was  instantly  amicable  and  for 
giving.  He  took  Mr.  Amos  Hughes's  warning, 
that  he  should,  as  a  matter  of  duty,  lay  very 
clearly  before  the  young  lady  the  seriousness 
of  what  she  proposed  to  do,  and  not  until  he 
had  exhausted  every  argument  would  he  per 
mit  her  to  sign  the  papers  of  release  which  (as 
a  matter  of  precaution)  he  had  prepared. 
"  She's  of  age,"  said  Amos  Hughes,  "  and  no 
body  can  say  that  she  has  not  a  right  to  refuse 
to  proceed  further  in  the  matter.  But  I  shall 
warn  her." 

"  'Course,  man,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar ;  "  that's 
your  trade." 

307 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

And  so  the  evening  came,  and  the  three  men 
went  up  to  Robert  Gray's  house. 

It  was  a  long  evening.  More  than  once  Dr. 
Lavendar  trembled  as  he  saw  the  kingdoms  of 
the  world  and  the  glory  of  them  spread  before 
his  child's  eyes.  But  he  said  no  word,  and  once, 
sternly,  he  laid  his  hand  on  Rebecca's  arm  to 
check  some  word  of  hers. 

"  Let  her  alone,"  he  said. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  before  there  came  a  mo 
ment  of  solemn  silence.  Alice  bent  over  a  paper, 
which  John  Carter  had  read  aloud  to  her,  and 
signed  her  name.  Luther  and  Rebecca  and  Dr. 
Lavendar  witnessed  the  signature.  Then  Re 
becca  Gray  took  the  girl  in  her  arms. 

"  That  young  man  has  got  something  to 
him,"  Mr.  Amos  Hughes  said,  as  they  went  back 
to  the  Rectory. 

"  If  you  could  put  some  printing  in  his  way, 
it  would  be  a  favor  to  me,"  said  Dr.  Laven 
dar. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  I  could,"  the  lawyer 

said. 

"  The  girl  is  a  fine  creature,  poor  child,"  said 

Mr.  Carter. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar,  "  they  arc 
308 


"EXCEEDING    HIGH    MOUNTAIN' 

both  good  children,  and  they  have  behaved  well; 
but  there's  somebody  else,  let  me  tell  you !" 

However,  he  did  not  tell  them.  Perhaps  he 
kept  his  opinion  for  Robert  Gray's  ears,  for  once 
he  said,  smiling,  in  Rebecca's  presence: 

"  Robert,  this  wife  of  yours  is  a  noble  wom 
an." 

Mr.  Gray,  a  little  surprised,  said,  politely, 
looking  with  kind  eyes  at  Rebecca,  "  Mrs.  Gray 
is  a  very  good  wife,  sir." 

And  Rebecca  went  up  and  hid  herself  in  the 
garret  and  cried  with  joy. 


AT    THE    STUFFED-ANIMAL    HOUSE 


AT    THE    STUFFED-ANIMAL    HOUSE 


WILLY  KING'S  buggy,  splashed  to  the  top  of  the 
hood  with  mud  and  sagging  sidewise  on  its  worn 
old  springs,  came  pulling  up  the  hill  past  the 
burial-ground.  The  doctor  himself,  curled  in 
one  corner,  rested  a  leg  on  the  dash-board  and 
hung  his  reins  on  the  hook  over  his  head.  He 
was  very  sleepy,  for  he  had  been  up  until  three 
with  an  old  woman  who  thought  she  was  sick, 
and  he  had  been  routed  out  of  bed  again  at  five 
because  she  told  her  family  that  she  was  going 
to  die.  William  King  was  not  given  to  sarcasm, 
but  he  longed  to  say  to  the  waiting  relatives, 
"  There  is  no  hope ! — she'll  live."  Instead,  he 
looked  seriously  sympathetic  and  kept  his 
thoughts  to  himself.  When  he  got  home  to 
breakfast,  his  wife  told  him  how  foolish  he  was 
to  take  so  much  trouble.  "  There's  nothing  the 
313 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

matter  with  Mrs.  Drayton,"  said  Mrs.  King; 
"  and  I  should  tell  her  so,  flatly  and  frankly.  It 
would  do  her  good." 

William  said  that  he  would  like  another  cup 
of  coffee. 

"  It  wouldn't  be  good  for  you,"  said  his 
Martha ;  "  you  are  drinking  too  much  coffee. 
You  can  have  shells  if  you  want  to.  Shall  I  have 
some  shells  warmed  up?" 

William  said  "  No,"  and  went  trudging  off  to 
his  office ;  and  then,  at  ten,  started  on  his  round 
of  calls,  his  old  buggy  still  unwashed  from  the 
morning  jaunt  to  the  hypochondriac's  death-bed. 
The  day  was  still  and  sunny,  the  road  quite  de 
serted  and  full  of  pleasant  shadows  under  the 
May  foliage.  But  the  sleepy  doctor  saw  it  all 
through  half-closed  eyes,  and  yawned,  and  rested 
one  plump  leg  on  the  dash-board,  and  let  the  reins 
hang  swaying  from  the  hook  in  the  roof  of  the 
buggy.  Then,  suddenly,  his  mare  stopped  and 
William  opened  his  eyes. 

"  Caught  you  napping,  Willy !"  said  a  loud, 
hearty  voice.  And  the  doctor  sat  up  and  drew 
his  leg  in  and  laughed. 

"  Well,  Miss  Harriet,  how  do  you  know  but 
what  I  was  worrying  over  a  case?" 

"  Much  worrying  you  do,  young  man !"  She 
314 


THE   STUFFED-ANIMAL   HOUSE 

sat  down  on  a  log  on  the  road-bank  and  smiled 
at  him.  She  was  a  big,  vigorous  woman  with  a 
fresh,  brown  face  and  a  keen,  kind  eye.  She  had 
a  gun  in  her  hand,  and  a  rabbit's  white  tail  stuck 
out  of  the  hunting-wallet  slung  over  her  shoul 
der.  She  had  broken  through  the  underbrush  on 
the  hill-side  just  as  Willy's  buggy  jogged  into 
the  shadow  of  a  sycamore  that  stretched  its  mot 
tled  arms  over  the  deserted  road. 

"  Willy,"  she  went  on,  in  her  loud,  cheerful 
voice,  "  do  you  doctor-men  smile  at  one  another 
when  you  meet,  like  the  Augurs,  because  you 
fool  us  so  easily  with  your  big  words?  You  call 
a  scratched  finger  an  *  abrasion  of  the  epidermis  ' 
— and  then  you  send  a  bill.  And,  bless  me !  what 
a  serious  air  you  put  on  at  a  minute's  notice ! — I 
saw  you  pull  your  leg  in,  Willy.  Come,  now; 
you  were  in  my  Sunday-school  class — why  don't 
you  just  admit  to  me  that  that  piercing  look  over 
your  eye-glasses  is  one  of  the  tricks  of  the  trade  ? 
I  won't  tell." 

William  King  chuckled.  "  You  just  get  a 
touch  of  lumbago,  Miss  Harriet,  and  you'll  be 
lieve  in  my  tricks." 

"Lumbago!"  said  his  reviler.  "Not  I;  a 
day's  shooting  would  cure  it  quicker  than  a  bar 
rel  of  your  pills." 

315 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

"  Been  shooting  this  morning?" 

"  No ;  I  set  a  trap  in  Dawson's  hollow."  She 
pulled  out  the  rabbit  and  held  it  up.  "  Not  a 
bone  broken.  Handsome,  isn't  he?  Poor  little 
thing !" 

William  looked  at  the  soft,  furry  creature,  limp 
in  the  big  brown  hand,  with  critical  appreciation. 
"  Yes,  beautiful.  Miss  Annie  didn't  find  him, 
to  let  him  out?" 

The  hunter's  face  changed  to  amused  impa 
tience.  "Willy, she  opened  three  traps  last  week. 
And  she  was  so  shrewd  about  it;  you  would 
never  believe  how  clever  she  is.  Of  course  it's  no 
use  to  scold." 

"  Of  course  not.  What  excuse  does  she 
make?" 

"Oh,  just  the  same  thing:  'Sister,  it  hurts 
me  to  think  they  can't  get  out.'  " 

"  Poor  thing !"  said  the  doctor. 

"  I  have  tried  to  make  her  promise  not  to  inter 
fere  with  the  traps.  You  know,  if  I  could  once 
get  a  promise  out  of  her  I  would  be  all  right; 
Annie  never  broke  a  promise  in  her  life.  But 
she  is  too  shrewd  to  be  led  into  it.  She  always 
says,  '  I'm  the  oldest,  and  you  mustn't  order  me 
round.'  It  would  be  funny  if  it  weren't  so  pro 
voking." 

316 


THE  STUFFED-ANIMAL  HOUSE 

"  Poor  thing !"  said  the  doctor  again. 

"  She  follows  me  and  takes  the  bait  out  of  the 
traps  once  in  a  while;  but  she  prefers  to  let 
things  go.  And  she  is  certainly  wonderfully 
bright  about  it,"  Miss  Harriet  said.  "  Now, 
why  can't  she  be  sensible  in  other  things?" 

"  Well,  you  know  she  has  always  been  about 
twelve ;  it's  the  young  head  on  old  shoulders." 

"  I  must  tell  you  her  last  performance,"  Miss 
Harriet  said.  "  You  know  that  picture  of  Aunt 
Gordon  that  hung  in  the  dining-room?  Dread 
ful  thing!  I  never  saw  the  poor  woman,  but  I 
believe  she  wasn't  quite  as  ugly  as  that  portrait, 
though  Alex  looks  just  like  her,  Dr.  Lavendar 
says;  and  Alex  is  dreadfully  ugly,  with  those 
pale  eyes  of  his.  Well,  I  happened  to  say — it 
was  last  Tuesday,  at  tea,  and  Matty  Barkley 
was  there :  '  That  picture  of  Aunt  Gordon  is 
awful!  I  can't  bear  it.'  Of  course  I  never 
thought  of  it  again,  until  I  came  home  the  next 
day — and  what  do  you  suppose?" 

Willy  began  to  grin. 

"  Yes !  she  had  got  up  on  a  chair,  if  you 
please,  and  cut  it  out  of  the  frame  and  slashed  it 
all  to  pieces." 

"  Well  done !"  said  Willy  King,  slapping  his 
thigh. 

317 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

"  No  such  thing.  It  was  ugly,  but  it  was  a 
family  portrait." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"  Oh,  she  had  her  excuse.  .  .  .  Willy,  I  can't 
understand  her  mind;  it  is  so  unreasonably 
reasonable :  '  Sister,  you  said  you  couldn't  bear 
it,  so  what  was  the  use  of  having  it?'  After  all, 
that  was  sense,  William." 

"  So  it  was,"  said  the  doctor,  and  unhooked 
his  reins  and  nodded.  "  Well,"  he  said — 

But  Miss  Harriet  laughed  awkwardly.  "Wait 
a  minute,  can't  you  ?  It  won't  kill  anybody  to  do 
without  a  pill  for  five  minutes." 

"  Well,  no,  I  suppose  it  won't,"  William  ad 
mitted  ;  "  but  with  a  view  to  getting  home  in 
time  for  dinner — 

"  Oh,  let  Martha  wait.  Willy,  you  are  the 
meekest  being — let  her  wait.  Tell  her  you'll 
have  your  dinner  when  you're  good  and  ready." 

"  Martha  is  only  concerned  on  my  own  ac 
count,"  the  loyal  William  protested. 

"  Well,  I'm  not  going  to  keep  you  long,"  his 
old  friend  said,  roughly ;  "  I — I  just  want  to  ask 
you  a  question."  Her  face  grew  suddenly  a 
dull  red.  "  Not  that  I  believe  in  your  pills  and 
potions — just  please  remember  that.  But  I  sup 
pose  you  do  know  a  little  something." 
318 


THE  STUFFED-ANIMAL  HOUSE 

"  I  could  diagnose  a  scratched  finger,"  said 
the  doctor,  meekly. 

"  Well — "  she  said,  and  looked  at  the  lock  of 
her  rifle ;  "  there's  nothing  in  the  world  the  mat 
ter  with  me,  but — 

"  You  don't  look  like  a  confirmed  invalid,"  the 
doctor  assured  her. 

"  No ! — do  I  ?"  she  said,  eagerly.  "  I  really 
am  very  well,  William — very  well.  Dear  me, 
when  I  get  home  after  a  round  of  my  traps 
(when  Annie  hasn't  teased  me  by  letting  things 
out)  and  eat  a  good  dinner,  and  sit  down  with  a 
taxidermy  magazine,  I — I  wouldn't  thank  King 
George  to  be  my  uncle.  Yes,  I  am  very  well." 

Her  emphasis  had  in  it  a  certain  agitation 
that  caught  the  doctor's  eye.  "  Your  out-of- 
door  life  is  calculated  to  keep  you  well,"  he  said. 

Miss  Harriet  got  up  and  thrust  the  rabbit 
back  into  the  pouch  at  her  side.  "  Of  course ; 
and,  anyhow,  I'm  not  the  sick  kind.  Imagine  me 
shut  up  between  four  walls!  I  should  be  like 
Sterne's  starling.  Do  you  remember? — '  I  want 
to  get  out,  I  want  to  get  out.'  No,  there's 
nothing  the  matter  with  me.  Absolutely  noth- 
ing." 

She  did  look  very  well,  the  big,  brown  woman, 
towering  up  at  the  road-side,  with  her  rifle  in 
319 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

her  hand  and  the  good  color  in  her  cheeks  and 
lips.  Yet  her  eyes  had  a  worn  look,  William 
thought.  "  Pain  somewhere,"  said  the  doctor  to 
himself. 

"  You  know,  I  don't  believe  in  your  pills  and 
truck,"  she  insisted,  frowning. 

"  Of  course  not,"  he  assured  her  easily. 
"  Come,  now,  Miss  Harriet,  what's  wrong?" 

"  Nothing,  I  tell  you,"  she  said,  sharply ;  and 
then,  with  impatient  brevity,  she  spoke  of  some 
special  discomfort  which  had  annoyed  her.  "  It 
began  about  six  months  ago." 

"  Probably  you've  taken  cold,"  William  King 
said,  and  then  he  asked  a  question  or  two.  She 
answered  with  irritable  flippancy : 

"  Now  don't  put  on  airs,  Willy.  There's  no 
use  trying  to  impress  me ;  I  know  you.  Remem 
ber,  you  were  in  my  Sunday-school  class." 

"  Why  didn't  you  make  a  better  boy  of  me, 
then?  You  had  your  chance.  Miss  Harriet, 
would  you  mind  coming  into  my  office  and  just 
letting  me  look  you  over?  Come,  now,  why 
shouldn't  I  get  a  job  out  of  you  for  once?  Here 
you  tackle  me  on  the  road-side  and  get  an  opinion 
for  nothing." 

She  chuckled,  but  retorted  that  she  hated 
doctors  and  their  offices.  "  I'm  not  that  Dray- 
320 


THE   STUFFED-ANIMAL   HOUSE 

ton  cat,"  she  said,  "  always  wanting  a  doctor  to 
fuss  over  me.  No,  you  can  give  me  a  pill  right 
here — though  I  haven't  a  bit  of  faith  in  it." 

"  I  wouldn't  waste  a  good  pill  on  you,"  the 
doctor  defended  himself.  "  You've  got  to  come 
and  see  me." 

But  when  she  had  promised  to  come,  and  Will 
iam,  slapping  a  rein  down  on  the  mare's  flank, 
was  jogging  along  under  the  sycamore  branches, 
he  did  not  fall  into  his  pleasant  drowse  again. 
"  She  looks  so  well,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  she 
must  be  all  right — " 
21 


II 


Miss  HARRIET'S  house,  called  by  Old  Chester 
children  "  The  Stuffed-Animal  House,"  was  on 
the  hill-road  a  stone's-throw  beyond  the  burial- 
ground.  It  was  of  weather-worn  brick,  and  its 
white  lintels,  carved  in  thin  festoons  of  fruit 
and  flowers,  were  nearly  hidden  by  ivy  that 
stretched  dark  figures  over  the  marble,  and, 
thickening  with  the  years  across  the  tops  of  the 
windows,  made  the  rooms  within  dim  with  waver 
ing  leaf  shadows.  A  brick  path,  damp  and 
faintly  green  with  moss,  ran  down  to  a  green 
gate  set  in  a  ragged  privet  hedge  that  was  al 
ways  dusty  and  choked  with  dead  twigs.  The 
house  itself  was  so  shaded  by  horse-chestnuts 
that  grass  refused  to  grow  in  the  door-yard. 
A  porch  shadowed  the  front  door,  which  opened 
into  a  dark,  square  hall,  full  of  dim  figures  that 
hung  from  the  ceiling  and  stood  in  cases  against 
the  walls.  A  dusty  crocodile  stretched  overhead, 
almost  the  width  of  the  hall ;  a  shark,  with  var 
nished  belly  splitting  a  little  under  one  fin  and 


THE   STUFFED-ANIMAL  HOUSE 

showing  a  burst  of  cotton,  lurked  in  a  dim 
corner ;  over  the  parlor  door  a  great  snake,  coil 
ed  about  a  branch,  looked  down  with  glittering, 
yellow  eyes ;  and  along  the  walls  were  cases  of 
very  beautiful  birds,  their  plumage  dulled  now, 
for  it  was  forty  years  since  Miss  Harriet's 
father  had  made  his  collection.  But  all  around 
the  hall  were  glistening  eyes  that  stared  and 
stared,  until  sometimes  an  Old  Chester  child, 
clinging  to  a  mother's  protecting  hand,  felt  sure 
they  moved,  and  that  in  another  moment  the 
crocodile's  jaws  would  snap  together,  or  the 
eagle's  wings  would  flap  horribly  in  the  dark 
ness. 

Yet  there  was  an  awful  joy  to  Old  Chester 
youth  in  being  allowed  to  accompany  a  mother 
when  she  made  a  polite  call  on  Miss  Harriet. 
This  hall,  that  was  dark  and  still  and  full  of 
the  smell  of  dead  fur  and  feathers  and  some 
acrid  preservative,  had  all  the  fascination  of 
horror.  If  we  were  very  good  we  were  allowed 
to  walk  from  case  to  case  with  old  Miss  Annie, 
while  our  mothers  sat  in  the  parlor  and  talked 
to  Miss  Harriet.  Miss  Annie  could  not  tell  ua 
much  of  the  creatures  in  the  cases,  and  for  all 
she  used  to  laugh  and  giggle  just  as  we  did,  she 
never  really  knew  how  to  play  that  the  hall  was 
323 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

a  desert  island  and  the  wild  beasts  were  lurking 
in  the  forest  to  fall  upon  us. 

"  It  isn't  a  forest,  it's  our  front  hall,"  Miss 
Annie  would  say ;  "  and  you  must  do  what  I  tell 
you,  because  I'm  the  oldest,  and  I  don't  want 
to  play  desert  island.  But  I'll  show  you  my 
chickens,"  she  would  add,  with  eager  politeness. 

Sometimes,  if  Miss  Annie  were  not  in  the 
room,  we  would  hear  Miss  Harriet  tell  some  story 
about  her  mischievousness,  and  our  mothers 
would  sigh  and  smile  and  sa}',  "  Poor  dear !" 
Our  mothers  never  said  "  poor  dear  P'  about  us 
when  WTC  did  such  things.  If  one  of  us  Old 
Chester  children  had  spoken  out  in  church  as 
Miss  Harriet  said  Miss  Annie  did  once,  and  told 
Dr.  Lavendar  that  he  was  telling  a  story  when 
he  read  in  the  morning  lesson  that  the  serpent 
talked  to  Eve — "  because,"  said  Miss  Annie, 
"  snakes  can't  talk  "  —if  we  had  done  such  a 
dreadful  thing,  we  should  have  been  taken  home 
and  whipped  and  sent  to  bed  without  any  sup 
per,  and  probably  the  whole  of  the  third  chapter 
of  Genesis  to  learn  by  heart.  We  should  not 
have  been  "  poor  things !"  This  was  very  con 
fusing  to  Old  Chester  youth  until  we  grew  older 
and  understood.  Then,  instead  of  being  puz 
zled,  we  shrunk  a  little  and  stayed  close  to  our 


THE   STUFFED-ANIMAL   HOUSE 

mothers,  listening  to  Miss  Harriet's  stories  of 
Miss  Annie  with  strange  interest  and  repulsion, 
or  staring  furtively  at  the  little  old  woman,  who 
laughed  often  and  had  a  way  of  running  about 
like  a  girl,  and  of  smoothing  back  her  gray  hair 
from  her  temples  with  a  fluttering  gesture,  and 
of  putting  up  her  lip  and  crying  when  she  was 
angry  or  frightened  or  when  she  saw  anything 
being  hurt.  Miss  Annie  could  never  bear  to  see 
anything  hurt ;  she  would  not  let  us  kill  spiders, 
and  she  made  us  walk  in  the  grass  instead  of  on 
the  brick  path,  because  the  ants  came  up  between 
the  bricks,  and  she  was  afraid  we  would  step  on 
them. 

"Annie  is  very  kind-hearted,"  Miss  Harriet 
used  to  tell  our  mothers.  "  She  can't  bear  my 
traps." 

Miss  Harriet's  traps  were  her  passion ;  her  in 
terest  in  taxidermy  had  come  to  her  from  her 
father,  and  though  she  had  not  been  able  to  add 
anything  of  real  value  to  Mr.  Hutchinson's 
collection,  her  work  was  thoroughly  well  done; 
and  she  even  made  a  fair  sum  of  money  each  year 
by  sending  her  squirrels  and  doves  to  town  for 
the  Christmas  trade. 

But  more  important  than  the  money  was  the 
wholesome  out-of-door  life  her  little  business  en- 
325 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

tailed,  which  had  given  her  her  vigorous  body 
and  sane  mind.  She  needed  both  to  live  with 
this  gray  -haired  woman,  whose  mind  was  eleven 
or  twelve  years  old.  It  was  not  a  bad  mind  for 
eleven  or  twelve,  Willy  King  used  to  say.  Old 
Miss  Annie  had  a  sort  of  crude  common-sense; 
she  could  reason  and  determine  as  well  as  any 
other  twelve-year-old  child — indeed, with  an  add 
ed  shrewdness  of  experience  that  sixty  years  of 
bodily  age  made  inevitable.  She  knew,  inno 
cently,  much  of  life  that  other  children  were 
guarded  from  knowing ;  she  knew  death,  too,  but 
with  no  horror — perhaps  as  we  were  meant  to 
know  it — something  as  natural  as  life  itself,  and 
most  of  all  as  a  release  from  pain.  For  old 
Annie  knew  pain  and  feared  it  as  only  the  body 
in  which  the  soul  is  not  awake  can  fear  it.  She 
wept  at  the  sight  of  blood  and  moaned  when  she 
heard  a  squirrel  squeak  in  the  trap ;  she  shivered 
with  passionate  expectation  of  relief  when  Miss 
Harriet's  kindly  chloroform  brought  peace  to 
fluttering  wings  or  beating  claws.  When  some 
soft,  furry  creature,  hurt  in  the  trap,  relaxed 
into  happy  sleep  in  the  thick,  sweet  smell  that, 
came  out  of  Miss  Harriet's  big  bottle,  Miss 
Annie  would  laugh  for  joy,  the  tears  of  misery 
still  wet  upon  her  wrinkled  cheeks. 
326 


THE   STUFFED-ANIMAL  HOUSE 

"  Don't  come  into  my  shop,"  Miss  Harriet 
used  to  say,  laughing  and  impatient,  when  Miss 
Annie  would  follow  her  into  the  room  in  the  barn 
where  she  did  her  work — "  don't  come  in  here, 
and  then  you  won't  see  things  that  hurt  your 
feelings." 

But  Annie,  smoothing  her  hair  back  from  her 
temples  with  a  curious,  girlish  gesture,  would 
only  shake  her  head  and  sidle  closer  to  her  sister, 
the  young,  guileless  eyes  in  the  withered  face 
full  of  protest  and  appeal.  Her  horror  of  pain 
lost  Miss  Harriet  many  a  fine  specimen;  for,  in 
her  pity  for  the  trapped  creatures,  Annie,  noise 
lessly,  like  some  Indian  hunter,  used  to  follow 
on  her  sister's  footsteps  through  the  woods,  lift 
ing  the  baits  out  of  the  traps,  or  if  she  found  a 
snared  creature  unhurt,  letting  it  go,  and  then 
creeping  home,  frightened  at  Miss  Harriet's 
anger,  which,  if  she  discovered  the  old  child's 
naughtiness,  fell  like  a  thunderbolt,  and  then 
cleared  into  patient  amusement,  as  a  black 
shower  brightens  into  sunshine.  The  big,  kind 
woman  with  a  man's  mind  could  not  be  angry 
at  this  poor  creature;  so  she  did  her  duty  by 
her  and  tried  not  to  think  about  her.  She 
went  her  way,  and  set  her  traps,  and  pre 
pared  her  few  specimens,  brushing  Annie  or 

»  327 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

any  other  annoyance  aside  with  careless  good 
nature. 

"  Don't  think  about  unpleasant  things,"  she 
used  to  say,  in  her  loud,  cheerful  voice.  "  The 
trouble  with  you  doctors  and  ministers,"  she  told 
Dr.  Lavendar,  "  is  that  you  make  people  think 
about  their  insides.  It's  stomachs  with  Willy 
and  souls  with  you.  Nobody  ought  to  know 
that  they  have  a  stomach  or  a  soul.  I  don't. 
A  tree  don't.  And  there  isn't  an  oak  in  Old 
Chester  that  isn't  pleasanter  than  Mrs.  Dray- 
ton.  Yet  she's  always  fussing  about  her  insides 
— spiritual  and  material." 

"  It's  when  you  don't  have  'em  that  you  fuss," 
Dr.  Lavendar  said ;  "  the  trouble  isn't  too  much 
soul,  it's  too  little.  And  I  guess  it's  the  same 
with  stomachs." 

"  Then  you  say  Mrs.  Dray  ton  has  no  soul?" 
Miss  Harriet  said,  pleasantly. 

"  I  never  said  anything  of  the  sort,"  said  Dr. 
Lavendar. 

As  for  Miss  Harriet,  she  went  on  to  Willy 
King's  office,  prepared,  as  usual,  to  make  him 
as  uncomfortable  as  she  could.  But  she  never 
put  Willy  out.  Her  flings  at  his  profession 
tickled  him  immensely,  and  if  now  and  then  the 
good,  honest  William  practised,  as  Miss  Harriet 
328 


THE   STUFFED-ANIMAL   HOUSE 

said,  a  few  of  the  tricks  of  his  trade,  he  was  not 
averse  to  sharing  their  humor  with  some  one 
who  could  appreciate  it. 

"  So  you  have  that  Drayton  cat  on  your 
hands  again?"  Miss  Harriet  said,  plumping  her 
self  down  in  William's  own  chair  in  front  of  his 
office  table  so  that  she  could  pick  up  and  examine 
what  she  called  his  "  riffraff."  ("  Do  open  your 
windows,  William.  I  don't  see  how  you  can  be 
so  shut  up.  Po-o-o !  how  can  people  live  so  much 
in-doors  ?" ) 

"  Well,"  said  William,  doing  as  he  was  bid, 
"  she  enjoys  my  visits  and  I  enjoy  her  checks. 
I  don't  complain." 

"  That's  like  the  profession,"  said  Miss  Har 
riet  ;  "  you  put  your  hands  in  our  pockets  when 
ever  you  get  a  chance.  Well,  you'll  get  nothing 
out  of  my  pocket,  William,  for  there's  nothing 
in  it." 

"  Miss  Harriet,"  said  William,  chuckling— 
"  you  won't  tell  anybody,  will  you  ?  But  Mrs. — 
well,  I  won't  name  names ;  that's  not  profes 
sional — " 

"Call  her  a  «  Female,' "  said  Miss  Har 
riet. 

"  Well,  a  Female  sent  for  me  on  Tuesday,  in 
a    dreadful   hurry;    I   must    come,    'right    off! 
329 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

quick!'  I  was  just  sitting  down  to  breakfast, 
but  of  course  I  ran — 

"  Martha  must  have  been  pleased  ?" 

"  I  ran ;  and  arrived,  winded.  There  was — the 
Female,  at  her  breakfast.  '  Oh,'  she  said, 
4  doctor,  the  baby  has  slept  right  through  from 
six  last  night,  and  he  hasn't  wakened  up  yet.  I 
am  afraid  there  is  something  the  matter  with  his 
little  brain.'  " 

"William,  if  you  didn't  say  that  there  was 
something  the  matter  with  her  little  brain — 

"  I  didn't,"  William  said,  grimly,  "  because 
she  hasn't  any.  Now,  Miss  Harriet,  let's  talk 
about  yourself;  it's  plcasantcr." 

"  Oh,  there  was  not  the  slightest  occasion  to 
come  to  see  you.  But  I  said  I  would,  and  here 
I  am.  I  suppose  you'll  send  me  a  bill  as  long  as 
my  arm.  Do  you  have  a  system  of  charges, 
Willy?  So  much  for  a  look  over  your  glasses? 
So  much  for  that  solemn  cough?  I  suppose  you 
grade  all  your  tricks.  Now  work  off  the  most 
expensive  ones  on  me ;  I  propose  to  get  the  worth 
of  my  money,  young  man." 

"  Thought  you  said  you  weren't  going  to  pay 
any  bills?"  William  reminded  her;  and  then  re 
fused  to  be  side-tracked  any  longer,  but  asked 
question  after  question,  bringing  her  up  once 
330 


THE  STUFFED-ANIMAL  HOUSE 

or  twice  with  a  sharp  turn.  "  Don't  joke  now, 
please,  Miss  Harriet.  Be  as  exact  as  you  can. 
Is  this  condition  thus,  or  so — ?"  And  when  he 
got  through  with  his  questions,  he  took  up  the 
joking  rather  heavily. 

"  You're  so  faithless  about  pills,"  he  said, 
"  that  I'm  not  going  to  give  you  any." 

"  What!  no  pills?"  said  Miss  Harriet. 

William  King  laughed  awkwardly.  "  Not  a 
pill!  I  don't  see  any  condition  which  warrants 
them ;  but—" 

"  What  did  I  tell  you?  There's  nothing  the 
matter,  and  you  just  dragged  me  here  to  give 
your  office  a  busy  look." 

"  I  didn't  suppose  you'd  see  through  it,"  said 
Willy  King.  "  But,  Miss  Harriet,  I— I  don't 
feel  quite  satisfied.  I — do  you  know  I've  a  great 
mind  to  get  a  man  in  Mercer  to  look  you  over? 
I  want  you  to  go  up  with  me  to-morrow  and  see 
him." 

"  Nonsense !" 

"  No,  truly,"  he  said ;  "  I  am  not  satisfied, 
Miss  Harriet." 

"But    what    do    you    mean?"    she    insisted, 

sharply.      "  There's    nothing   the    matter    with 

me.      You    said    yourself    I    didn't    need    any 

medicine.     Give  me  some  opiate  to  stop  thi 

331 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

this  discomfort  when  it  comes  on,  and  I'll  be 
all  right." 

"  You  can't  bear  opiates,"  he  said,  bluntly ; 
"  your  heart  won't  stand  them.  Don't  you  re 
member  the  time  you  broke  your  ankle  and  I 
tried  morphine  —  a  baby  dose  —  to  give  you 
some  relief?  You  gave  me  a  scare,  I  can  tell 
you." 

Miss  Harriet  was  silent.  Then :  "  I've  known 
my  heart  wasn't  right  for  two  years.  But — " 

"  Oh,  your  heart  doesn't  give  me  any  concern 
—if  you  don't  take  liberties  with  it.     Perhaps  it 
isn't  quite  as  good  as  it  was  thirty  years  ago, 
but—" 

"  Ah,  I  lost  it  to  you  then,  Willy.  You  were 
a  sweet  little  fellow  when  you  came  into  my 
class.  Do  you  remember  once  when — " 

"  Miss  Harriet,  you've  got  to  go  to  Mercer 
with  me  to-morrow,"  William  King  interrupted, 
quietly.  "  I  hope  there's  nothing  much  out  of 
the  way.  I  hope  not.  I — I  believe  not.  But 
I'm  not  sure.  We'll  go  up  and  see  Greylord  and 
find  out.  He'll  give  you  some  pills,  maybe,"  he 
ended,  and  laughed  and  got  up.  "  Now  I'm  off 
to  the  cat,  Miss  Harriet." 

And  Miss  Harriet,  to  her  astonishment,  found 
herself  dismissed  before  she  had  made  the  boy 
332 


THE  STUFFED-ANIMAL  HOUSE 

tell  her  what  he  was  afraid  of.  "  He  is  a  boy," 
she  said  to  herself.  "  Of  course  he  wouldn't  be 
apt  to  know  what  was  the  matter.  I  ought  to 
have  gone  to  see  some  Mercer  man  to  begin  with. 
I  remember  when  Willy  was  born." 


Ill 


WHEN  they  came  out  of  the  Mercer  doctor's  door 
William  King's  fresh  face  had  gone  white,  but 
Miss  Harriet  walked  smiling.  At  the  foot  of 
the  steps  the  doctor  paused  and  stood  an  in 
stant  leaning  on  the  hand-rail,  as  though  for  sup 
port  and  to  get  his  breath.  Miss  Harriet  looked 
at  him  with  concern.  "  Why,  Willy !"  she  said. 

"  Miss  Harriet,"  William  said,  hoarsely,  "  he 
may  be  mistaken.  It's  perfectly  possible  that  he 
is  mistaken." 

"  I  guess  not,  Willy,"  she  said,  simply. 
"  Come,  now,  don't  be  such  a  wet  string."  She 
struck  him  a  friendly  blow  on  the  shoulder  that 
made  the  doctor  take  a  quick  step  forward  to 
keep  his  balance;  but  it  gave  him  the  grip 
upon  himself  that  for  a  single  instant  he  had 
lost. 

"  And,  anyhow,"  he  said,  "  even  if  he  is  right, 
it  may  not  develop.  I've  known  a  case  where  it 
was  checked  for  two  years ;  and  then  the  patient 
died  of  small-pox." 

334 


THE   STUFFED-ANIMAL  HOUSE 

"  Pleasant  alternative,"  said  Miss  Harriet ; 
she  was  smiling,  her  face  full  of  color,  her  shoul 
ders  back,  her  head  up.  "  Come,  Willy  >  let's 
have  a  spree.  Here  we  are  for  a  day,  and 
Martha's  at  home.  We'll  have  a  good  dinner, 
and  we'll  do  something  interesting.  Hurrah!" 
said  Harriet  Hutchinson. 

And  the  doctor  could  do  no  less  than  fall  into 
step  at  that  martial  note  and  march  at  her  side 
proudly.  And  by  some  spiritual  contagion  his 
courage  met  hers  like  the  clash  of  swords.  They 
went  to  get  their  good  dinner,  and  Miss  Harriet 
ate  it  with  appetite.  Afterwards  she  declared 
they  would  go  to  the  circus.  "  It's  in  town ;  I 
saw  the  tents.  I  haven't  been  to  a  circus  for 
forty  years,"  she  said;  "but  I  know  just  how 
the  pink  lemonade  tastes.  You've  got  to  treat, 
Willy." 

"  I'll  throw  in  pea-nuts,"  said  William  King ; 
and  with  that  they  left  the  restaurant  and  went 
sauntering  along  the  hot,  grimy  street  in  the 
direction  of  the  open  lots  beyond  the  blast 
furnaces,  where,  under  a  deep  June  sky,  dazzling 
even  though  it  was  smudged  by  coils  of  smoke, 
were  stretched  the  circus  tents,  brave  with  flags 
and  slapping  and  billowing  in  a  joyous  wind. 
William  King  held  on  to  his  hat  and  looked  at 
335 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

the  great,  white  clouds,  domed  and  shining, 
piled  all  along  the  west.  "  We'll  get  a  shower, 
I'm  afraid,  Miss  Harriet." 

"  Well,  take  a  pill,  Willy,  and  then  it  won't 
hurt  you,"  she  told  him,  with  a  laugh  that  be 
longed  to  the  sun  and  wind,  to  the  flags  whip 
ping  out  on  their  halyards  and  the  signs  of  the 
side-shows  bellying  from  their  guy-ropes,  to  the 
blare  of  music  and  the  eager  circus  crowd — that 
crowd  that  never  changes  with  changing  genera 
tions.  Still  there  is  the  old  man  gaping  with  ex 
cited  eyes;  still  the  lanky  female  in  spectacles; 
the  cross  elder  sister  afraid  of  crushing  her  fresh 
skirts;  the  little  boy  absorbed  in  thought;  the 
little  girl  who  would  like  to  ride  on  the  Shetland 
pony  when  the  clown  offers  any  miss  in  the 
audience  an  opportunity.  We  know  them  all, 
and  doubtless  the}'  know  us,  the  patronizing, 
amused  on-lookers,  who  suddenly  become  as  ea 
ger  and  absorbed  as  any  graybeard  or  child  in 
the  crowd.  We  know  the  red  boxes,  too,  where 
men  with  hard  faces  and  wearied  eyes  shout 
mechanically  the  same  words  of  vociferous  in 
vitation  to  the  side  -  shows.  Children,  pulled 
along  by  their  elders,  would  stop,  open-mouthed, 
before  these  men ;  but  somehow  they  never  see 
the  wild  man  or  the  fat  lady.  Ah,  the  regret 
336 


THE  STUFFED-ANIMAL  HOUSE 

for  the  unseen  side-shows! — the  lady  with  the 
snakes;  the  skeleton  man;  the  duel  between  the 
educated  hyena  and  his  trainer — that  hyena  of 
whom  the  man  in  the  red  box  speaks  with  such 
convincing  enthusiasm.  "  /  have  been"  cries  the 
strident  voice — "  /  have  been  connected  with 
circuses  all  my  life — all  my  life,  ladies  and 
gentlemen! — and  I  give  you  my  sacred  word  of 
honor  that  this  is  the  most  magnificent  specimen 
of  the  terrible  grave-robbing  hyena  that  I  have 
ever  seen!"  Why  did  we  never  see  that  hyena? 
Why,  why  did  we  always  hurry  on  to  the  main 
tent?  It  is  the  pang  that  even  paradise  must 
know,  of  the  lost  experience  of  earth — or  per 
haps  of  hell. 

"We  ought  to  see  the  fat  lady,"  said  Dr. 
King. 

"  I'm  afraid  we'll  be  late,"  Miss  Harriet  ob 
jected,  eagerly. 

So  they  pushed  on  with  the  impatient,  good- 
natured  crowd.  The  smell  of  tan-bark  and  mat 
ted  pelts  and  stale  pea-nut  shells  came  in  a  gust 
as  they  jostled  under  the  flap  of  the  outer  tent 
and  found  themselves  inside  the  circle  of  gilded 
cages.  "  Shall  we  go  right  in  and  get  our 
seats?"  William  said. 

"  What !  and  not  look  at  the  animals  ?    Willy, 
22  337 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S   PEOPLE 

you're  crazy.  I  want  to  feed  the  elephants. 
Why,  there  are  a  lot  of  them,  six  or  seven." 

So  they  trudged  around  the  ring,  their  feet 
sinking  deep  into  the  loose,  trampled  earth. 
Miss  Harriet  poked  the  monkeys  clinging  to  the 
grating  of  their  car,  with  her  big  umbrella,  and 
examined  the  elephant's  hide  with  professional 
interest.  "  Imagine  curing  that  proboscis,"  she 
said.  And  then  they  stopped  in  front  of  a 
miserable,  magnificent  lion,  turning,  turning, 
turning  in  a  cage  hardly  more  than  his  own 
length.  Miss  Harriet  drew  in  her  breath.  "  It's 
being  trapped  that  is  so  awful,  Willy.  The  con 
sciousness  that  you  can't  get  out.  It  isn't  the — 
the  pain  of  it ;  it's  being  trapped." 

William  King,  looking  at  the  poor  tawny 
creature  of  the  desert  and  free  winds  and  life 
that  dealt  death  with  passion,  blinked  suddenly 
behind  his  glasses.  "  But  you  trap  things  your 
self,"  he  protested,  a  moment  afterwards. 

"Oh,  but  I  don't  keep  'em  trapped;  I  kill 
*em,"  she  defended  herself.  "  I  couldn't  keep 
things  shut  up.  I'd  be  as  bad  as  Annie  if  I  saw 
any  living  creature  that  wasn't  free  to  get  out- 
of-doors."  And  then  she  pushed  on  to  the  next 
cage,  and  the  next;  then  suddenly  feared  that 
they  would  not  get  good  scats  if  they  wasted 
338 


THE  STUFFED-ANIMAL  HOUSE 

any  more  time  among  the  animals.  "  For  we 
won't  have  any  reserved  doings,"  she  said.  "  I 
want  to  sit  on  those  boards  that  I  sat  on  forty 
years  ago." 

She  was  as  excited  as  she  might  have  been 
forty  years  ago ;  and  pushed  ahead  into  the  big 
tent,  dragging  William  by  the  hand,  and  climb 
ing  up  tier  after  tier,  to  get  a  good  view  of  the 
ring.  When  they  sat  down,  she  made  haste  to 
spread  open  the  flimsy  pink  sheet  of  the  pro 
gramme  with  its  pale  type,  and  read  to  William, 
in  a  loud,  ecstatic  voice,  just  what  was  going  to 
happen : 

"  Display  No.  1.  Gigantic  Pageantric  Pre 
lude — presenting  Equitational  Exercises,  Hippo- 
dromatical  Revivals,  Pachydermical  Aggrega 
tions — the  only  terpsichorean  Pachyderms  ever 
taught  to  tread  the  mazes  of  the  Quadrille. 

"  Display  No.  2.  Claire  St.  Jeal  and  her  com 
pany — the  loveliest  daughters  of  Italy,  and 
world-famous  bareback  equestriennes — 

"  You  are  sure  you  are  not  getting  tired  ?" 
William  King  interrupted. 

"Tired?"  she  repeated,  scornfully.  "Will 
iam,  as  Matty  Barkley  would  say,  you  are  a 
perfect  fool.  Why  should  I  be  tired?  I  feel 
first  rate — never  better.  I  wouldn't  thank  King 
339 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

George  to  be  my  uncle !  I've  wanted  to  come  to 
the  circus  for  years.  Willy,  what  will  your  wife 
say?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  William,  significantly. 

At  which  Miss  Harriet  laughed  until  the  tears 
stood  in  her  eyes.  "  William,  you  have  more 
sense  than  I  gave  you  credit  for.  But  I  am  not 
sure  that,  as  your  Sunday-school  teacher,  I  ought 
not  to  tell  you  to  confess.  Hullo!  look  what's 
coming." 

Flare  of  banners  !  Prancing  horses  !  Roman 
soldiers  in  rumbling  gold-and-crimson  chariots! 
Elephants  bearing,  throned  upon  their  backs, 
goddesses  of  liberty  and  queens  of  beauty  !  Miss 
Harriet  was  leaning  forward,  her  lips  parted 
with  excitement.  William  King  looked  at  her 
and  drew  in  his  breath. 

"  '  Not  more  than  six  months ;'  God  grant 
not ! — I  wish  it  might  not  be  more  than  two." 

"  Willy,  read  what  comes  next,"  she  said, 
shoving  the  programme  at  him ;  "  I  can't  stop 
looking." 

The  canvas  was  darkening  a  little  overhead, 
so  that  William  had  to  put  on  his  glasses 
and  hold  the  printed  sheet  at  arm's-length 
to  decipher  the  blurred,  smudged  text  suffi 
ciently  to  say  that  "  Mademoiselle  Orinda, 
340 


MISS   HARRIET    WAS    LEANING    FORWARD  " 


THE   STUFFED-ANIMAL   HOUSE 

Queen  of  the  Flying  Trapeze,  would  give  her 
marv — " 

"William — what  shall  I  do  about  Annie?" 
Miss  Harriet  said. 

"  You  know  we  will  all  take  care  of  Miss 
Annie,"  he  said,  tenderly ;  "  and — " 

"  Oh,  Willy,  there's  the  red  lemonade,"  she 
interrupted,  standing  up  and  beckoning  with 
her  crumpled  programme.  "  Did  you  ever  see 
so  deadly  a  drink?  You  forgot  the  pea-nuts," 
she  reminded  him,  reproachfully.  And  when 
William  secured  his  hot,  brown-paper  bag,  she 
ate  the  pea-nuts  and  watched  th,e  changing 
wonders  of  the  ring  with  intent  eyes.  She 
laughed  aloud  at  the  clown's  endeavors  to  ride  a 
kicking  donkey,  and  when  the  educated  dogs 
carried  one  another  about  in  a  wheelbarrow  she 
applauded  generously.  "  They  are  wonderful !" 
she  said. 

William  King  looked  at  her  keenly ;  it  was  all 
real.  Miss  Harriet  was  incapable  of  pretence. 

The  brilliant  day,  that  had  showed  between 
lacings  of  the  tent  like  strings  of  sapphires,  had 
dimmed  and  dimmed;  and  by-and-by,  unnoticed 
at  first,  there  was  the  drip  of  rain.  Here  and 
there  an  umbrella  was  raised,  and  once  or  twice 
a  bedraggled  man  or  woman  led  out  a  reluctant 
341 


DR.   LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

— «  For  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  have  you  catch 
your  death  of  cold  for  no  trained  elephants,"  a 
mother  said,  decidedly,  pulling  a  whining  boy 
from  beside  Miss  Harriet. 

"  Perhaps,"  ventured  the  doctor,  "  we  really 
ought  to  go.  I  can't  have  you  *  catch  your 
death  of  cold,'  Miss  Harriet." 

"  I  won't  die  of  a  cold,  William,"  she  said, 
her  eyes  narrowing. 

And  William  swore  at  himself  under  his 
breath,  but  said,  with  clumsy  jocularity:  "  Well, 
not  if  I  can  help  it.  But  I  don't  know  why  you 
should  be  so  sure;  it  might  give  you  bronchitis 
for  a  year." 

"  I  won't  have  bronchitis  for  a  year,"  Miss 
Harriet  said,  gazing  at  the  clowns. 

And  William  King  swore  at  himself  again. 
The  rain  increased  to  a  downpour;  little 
streams  at  first  dripped,  then  poured,  upon  the 
thinning  benches.  The  great  centre  pole  was 
streaming  wet ;  the  clown  stood  in  a  puddle,  and 
the  red  triangle  on  his  chalk-white  forehead 
melted  into  a  pink  smear. 

"Really,  Miss  Harriet,"  William  said,  anx 
iously,  "  Pm  afraid— 

"  If  you're  afraid  for  yourself,  I'll  go,"  she 
said ;  "  but  we  ought  to  wait  for  the  grand  con- 


THE   STUFFED-ANIMAL   HOUSE 

cert.  (Ah !  there's  the  man  with  the  red  balloons. 
If  you  had  a  half-dozen  children,  Willy,  as  you 
ought  to  have,  I'd  buy  him  out. )  Well,  are  you 
sugar  or  salt,  to  be  so  scared  of  a  drop  of  rain?" 

She  did  not  look  afraid  of  rain  herself  when 
she  got  up  and  pushed  past  the  scattered  spec 
tators,  her  hair  glistening  with  drops,  her  cheeks 
red,  her  eyes  clear.  "  William,"  she  said,  when 
they  got  outside  and  were  hurrying  along  to 
catch  the  stage  for  Old  Chester — "  William,  that 
has  done  me  good.  I  feel  superbly.  Do  you 
know,  I  haven't  had  an  instant's  pain  since  I 
first  spoke  of  the  thing  to  you?  That's  three 
days  entirely  free.  Why,  such  a  thing  hasn't 
happened  in — in  three  months.  Just  think  of 
that — entirely  free.  William,  I'll  cheat  you 
doctor-men  yet."  She  looked  at  him  with  glow 
ing  courage.  "  I  feel  so  well,"  she  said. 

She  held  out  her  hand,  there  in  the  rain  on  the 
black  cinder-path,  and  William  King  struck  his 
into  it  with  a  sort  of  shout. 

"  Hurrah !"  he  said,  as  she  had  said  when  they 
had  come  out  from  hearing  the  sentence  in  the 
Mercer  doctor's  office. 

The  long  ride  home  in  the  stage,  in  which  they 
were  the  only  passengers,  was  perhaps  a  descend 
ing  scale.  ...  At  first  they  talked  of  the  circus. 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

"  I  liked  the  man  and  the  bear  best,"  William 
said. 

"  Oh,  he  wasn't  as  fine  as  that  beautiful  lady 
in  pink  petticoats  who  rode  the  fat,  white  horse. 
Did  you  ever  see  a  horse  with  so  broad  a  back, 
Willy?  Why,  I  could  have  ridden  him  my 
self." 

"  He  would  need  a  broad  back,"  William  said ; 
and  Miss  Harriet  told  him  to  hold  his  tongue 
and  not  be  impudent.  The  rain  was  pattering 
on  the  roof  and  streaming  down  the  windows, 
and  in  the  dark,  damp  cavern  of  the  stage  they 
could  not  see  each  other's  face  very  well;  but 
the  stretches  of  tense  silence  in  the  circus  talk 
made  William  King's  heart  beat  heavily,  al 
though  he  burst  out  gayly  that  the  afternoon 
had  brought  back  his  youth.  "  Miss  Harriet, 
when  you  were  a  child,  didn't  you  always  want 
to  poke  around  under  the  seats  when  it  was  over 
and  find  things?  William  Rives  once  found  five 
cents.  But  William  would  find  five  cents  in  the 
Desert  of  Sahara.  I  never  had  his  luck,  but  I 
was  confident  that  watches  were  dropped  freely 
by  the  spectators." 

"  Of  course,"  cried  Miss  Harriet.     "  Or  dia 
mond-rings.    My  fancy  led  me  towards  diamond- 
rings.    But  I  suppose  you  never  knew  the  envy 
344 


THE  STUFFED-ANIMAL  HOUSE 

of  the  ladies'  clothes?     Dear  me — those  petti 
coats  !" 

"  The  ring-master's  boots  were  very  bitter  to 
me ;  but  my  greatest  desire  was — 

"  Willy,"  Miss  Harriet  said,  hoarsely,  "  I 
don't  want  anybody  to  know." 

"  Of  course  not,"  William  King  said.  "  Why 
should  they?  We  may  hold  this  thing  at  bay 
for—" 

"  We  will  hold  it  at  bay,"  she  said,  with  pas 
sion.  "I  will!  I  will!  Do  you  hear  me  ?" 

Willy  King  murmured  something  inarticu 
lately  ;  his  eyes  suddenly  smarted. 

The  ride  to  Old  Chester  seemed  to  him  inter 
minable ;  and  when,  after  wandering  snatches 
of  talk  about  the  circus,  the  stage  at  last  drew 
up  at  the  green  gate  in  Miss  Harriet's  privet 
hedge,  his  nerves  were  tense  and  his  face  hag 
gard  with  fatigue. 

At  home,  at  his  belated  supper-table,  his  good 
Martha  was  very  severe  with  him.  "  You 
oughtn't  to  allow  yourself  to  get  so  tired ;  it's 
wrong.  You  could  just  as  well  as  not  have 
ordered  your  things  by  mail.  I  must  say,  Will 
iam,  flatly  and  frankly,  that  a  doctor  ought  to 
have  more  sense.  I  hope  there  was  nobody  in  the 
stage  you  knew  to  talk  you  to  death?" 
345 


DR.   LAVENDAR'S   PEOPLE 

"  Miss  Harriet  came  down,"  William  said, 
"  but  she  hadn't  much  to  say." 

"  I  suppose  she  went  to  buy  some  of  her  horrid 
supplies?"  Martha  said.  "I  can't  understand 
that  woman — catching  things  in  traps.  How 
would  she  like  to  be  caught  in  a  trap?  I  asked 
her  once — because  I  am  always  perfectly  frank 
with  people.  '  How  would  you  like  to  be  caught 
in  a  trap,  Miss  Harriet?'  I  said.  And  she  said, 
6  Oh,  Annie  would  let  me  out.'  You  never  can 
get  a  straight  answer  out  of  Harriet  Hutchin- 
son." 

"  My  dear,  I'll  take  another  cup  of  tea. 
Stronger,  please." 

"  My  dear,  strong  tea  isn't  good  for  you," 
Martha  said. 


IV 


WHEN  Miss  Harriet  woke  the  next  morning  the 
blue  June  day  was  flooding  her  room.  At  first 
she  could  not  remember.  .  .  .  What  was  the 
something  behind  her  consciousness?  It  came 
in  an  instant.  "  Trapped,"  she  said,  aloud,  and 
turned  her  head  to  see  Miss  Annie  at  her  bed 
side. 

"What  is  trapped,  sister?"  said  Miss  Annie, 
her  little  old  face  crumpling  with  distress. 

"  I  am,"  Harriet  said ;  and  laughed  at  the  ab 
surdity  of  telling  Annie  in  such  a  fashion.  But 
of  course  there  was  no  use  in  telling  Annie.  She 
couldn't  understand,  and  all  that  there  was  for 
her  to  know,  the  ultimate  fact,  she  would  find 
out  soon  enough.  The  younger  sister  felt  a  sick 
distaste  of  dealing  with  this  poor  mind;  she 
wanted  to  be  kind  to  Annie;  she  had  always 
wanted  to  be  kind  to  her — but  she  didn't  want 
her  round,  that  was  all.  And  so  she  sent  her 
off,  patiently  and  not  ungently :  "  Don't  bother 
me,  Annie,  that's  a  good  girl.  No — I  don't  want 
347 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

any  roses;  take  them  away.  No — I  don't  want 
to  look  at  pictures.  You  go  away  now,  that's  a 
good  girl." 

And  the  wrinkled  child  obeyed  meekly.  But 
she  told  the  deaf  Augustine  that  Harriet  was 
cross.  "  I'm  the  oldest,  and  she  oughtn't  to 
order  me  round,"  she  whimpered. 

Poor  Miss  Annie  was  constantly  being  told  to 
be  a  good  girl  and  go  away,  in  the  days  that 
followed — days,  to  Miss  Harriet,  of  that  amaze 
ment  and  self-concentration  which  belong  to 
such  an  experience  as  hers.  There  had  been  no 
leading  up  to  this  knowledge  that  had  come  to 
her — no  gradual  preparation  of  apprehension 
or  suspicion.  The  full  speed  of  living  had  come, 
crash!  against  the  fact  of  dying.  The  recoil, 
the  pause,  the  terrible  astonishment  of  that  mo 
ment  when  Life,  surging  ahead  with  all  his  ban 
ners  flying,  flings  himself  in  an  instant  against 
the  immovable  face  of  Death — leaves  the  soul 
dazed  by  the  shock — dazed,  and  unbelieving. 
"  It  cannot  be."  That  is  the  first  clear  thought. 
It  is  impossible;  there  is  a  mistake  somewhere. 
A  day  ago,  an  hour  ago,  Death  was  lying  hid 
den  far,  far  off  in  the  years.  Sometime,  of 
course,  he  would  arrive — solemn,  inevitable,  but 
beneficent,  or  at  least  serene.  He  would  send  soft 
348 


THE   STUFFED-ANIMAL   HOUSE 

warnings  before  him — faint  tellings  of  fatigue, 
vague  mists  of  sunset  shadows.  The  soul  will  be 
ready  for  him  when  he  comes  then ;  will  even  wel 
come  him,  for  after  a  while  Life  grows  a  little 
tired  and  is  ready  to  grasp  that  cool  hand  and 
rest.  We  all  know  how  to  meet  Death  then,  with 
dignity  and  patience.  But  to  meet  him  to-mor 
row — to-day,  even,  when  we  are  full  of  our  own 
business,  of  our  own  urgent  affairs — the  mere 
interruption  of  it  is  maddening.  Across  the 
solemnity  of  the  thought  comes  with  grotesque 
incongruity  an  irritated  consciousness  of  the  in 
convenience  of  dying. 

As  for  Harriet  Hutchinson — "  I  don't  be 
lieve  it,"  she  said  to  herself,  that  first  morning. 
And  then,  breathlessly,  "  Why,  I  can't— die !" 

She  was  not  afraid,  as  one  counts  fear,  but  she 
was  absorbed;  for  there  is  a  dreadful  and  curi 
ously  impersonal  interest  in  the  situation  that 
takes  possession  of  the  mind  in  moments  like 
this.  No  wonder  she  could  not  think  about 
Annie.  She  could  not  think  about  anything  ex 
cept  that  that  man  in  Mercer  had  said  that  in 
a  very  short  time — 

"  Why,  but  it's  perfectly  ridiculous !"  she  told 
herself ;  "  it  can't  be.  I'm  not  sick — " 

As  she  lay  there  in  her  bed  that  morning,  after 
349 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

she  had  sent  Miss  Annie  away,  she  lifted  her 
hand — a  large  hand,  with  strong,  square  fingers, 
brown  with  weather  and  rough  with  her  work, 
and  looked  at  it  curiously.  It  was  a  little  thin — • 
she  had  not  noticed  that  before ;  but  there  it  was, 
eager,  vital,  quick  to  grip  and  hold,  life  in  every 
line.  And  it  would  be — still?  No;  she  did  not 
believe  it.  And,  besides,  it  couldn't  be,  it 
mustn't  be.  She  had  a  hundred  things  to  do. 
She  must  do  them ;  she  couldn't  suddenly — stop. 
Life  surged  up  in  a  great  wave  of  passionate  de 
termination.  She  got  up,  eager  to  go  on  living, 
and  to  deny,  deny,  deny !  It  was  the  old  human 
experience  which  is  repeated  and  repeated  until 
Life  can  learn  the  fulfilment  of  Death.  Poor 
Life,  beaten  by  the  whips  of  pain,  it  takes  so 
long  sometimes  to  learn  its  lesson ! 

In  those  weeks  that  followed — weeks  of  re 
fusal,  and  then  struggle,  and  then  acceptance, 
and  last  of  all  adjustment — Miss  Harriet  found 
old  Annie's  companionship  almost  intolerable. 
She  was  very  unreasonable  with  her,  very  harsh 
even ;  but  all  she  asked  was  solitude,  and  solitude 
Annie  would  not  give.  She  ran  at  her  sister's 
heels  like  a  dog ;  sat  looking  at  her  with  fright 
ened  eyes  in  the  bad  hours  that  came  with  re 
lentlessly  increasing  frequency;  came  whimper- 
350 


THE   STUFFED-ANIMAL   HOUSE 

ing  to  her  bedside  on  those  exhausted  mornings 
when  Harriet  would  scourge  her  poor  body  onto 
its  feet  and  announce  that  she  was  going  out. 
"  These  four  walls  smother  me,"  she  used  to 
say ;  "  I  must  get  out-of-doors." 

Sometimes  it  seemed  as  if  the  big,  kind  nature 
that  had  borne  the  pin-pricks  so  patiently  all 
these  years  had  reached  the  breaking-point,  and 
another  day  or  another  hour  of  poor  old  Annie's 
foolish  love  would  cause  it  to  burst  out  in  frantic 
anger : 

"It  hurts,  sister?" 

"  Yes,  Annie ;  but  never  mind.  If  I  could 
only  get  out-of-doors  I  wouldn't  mind." 

"  Oh,  sister,  don't  let  it  hurt." 

"  Can't  help  it,  Annie.  Now,  don't  think 
about  it,  that's  a  good  girl.  Maybe  I  can  get 
out  to-morrow  a  little  while." 

"  But  I  can't  bear  it." 

"  Got  to,  my  dear.  Come,  now,  run  away. 
Go  and  see  your  chickens." 

"  Sister,  I  can't  bear  it." 

"  Annie,  you  drive  me  wild.  Augustine — 
oh,  she  can't  hear.  Augustine!  you  must  take 
Miss  Annie  away.  Annie,  if  you  say  another 
word—" 

"  I'm  the  oldest  and  I  have  a  right  to  talk. 
351 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

Why  don't  you  smell  your  big  bottle?  When 
the  squirrels  smell  it  they  are  not  hurt." 

"  Well,  I'm  not  a  squirrel.  Annie,  if  you 
stay  another  minute,  I'll  —  I'll  —  Oh,  for 
Heaven's  sake,  let  me  alone !" 

She  could  stand  it,  she  told  herself,  if  she  was 
alone.  For  though  she  finally  accepted  the  fact, 
her  own  weakness  she  could  not  accept.  "  I  am 
ashamed,"  she  told  William  King,  angrily. 

"  But  there's  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of," 
Willy  King  protested,  in  his  kind  way.  "  Dear 
Miss  Harriet — " 

"  Hold  your  tongue.  Nothing  to  be  ashamed 
of?  I  guess  if  your  body  had  put  your  soul  in  a 
corner,  with  its  face  to  the  wall — I  guess  you'd 
be  ashamed.  Yesterday  I — I—  Well,  never 
mind.  But  my  body  got  me  down,  I  tell  you — 
got  my  soul  down.  Isn't  that  something  to  be 
ashamed  of?  Don't  be  an  ass,  William.  I'm 
ashamed." 

It  was  this  consciousness  of  her  own  weakness 
that  made  her  hold  herself  aloof  from  her 
friends. 

In  those   days   people  did   not  have  trained 

nurses ;  they  nursed  one  another.      It  was  not 

skilful  nursing;  it  frequently  was  not  wise,  as 

we  count  wisdom  to-day ;  but  it  was  very  tender 

352 


THE   STUFFED-ANIMAL   HOUSE 

and  loving,  and  it  was  very  bracing.  In  these 
softer  times,  when  we  run  so  easily  to  relief  from 
pain,  we  do  not  feel  the  presence  of  the  profes 
sional  nurse  a  check  upon  our  weakness ;  if  we 
suffer,  we  are  willing  that  this  skilful,  noiseless 
machine,  who  will  know  exactly  how  to  relieve 
us,  shall  see  the  suffering.  We  are  neither  morti 
fied  nor  humiliated  by  our  lack  of  endurance  or 
of  courage.  But  in  Old  Chester,  when  we  were 
ill,  and  some  friend  or  relative  came  to  sit  by  our 
bedside,  we  had — for  their  sakes — to  make  an 
effort  to  control  ourselves.  If  the  effort  failed, 
our  souls  blushed.  Miss  Harriet  would  not  run 
the  risk  of  failure ;  her  body,  as  she  said,  got  the 
better  of  her  soul  when  she  was  alone;  it  should 
not  have  the  chance  to  humiliate  her  publicly; 
so,  roughly,  she  refused  the  friendly  assistance 
so  eagerly  offered :  "  Thank  you ;  Augustine  can 
look  after  me.  I  don't  want  anybody.  And  be 
sides,  I'm  perfectly  comfortable.  (William,  I 
won't  have  anybody.  Do  you  understand?  It's 
bad  enough  to  disgrace  myself  in  my  own  eyes ; 
I  won't  have  Matty  Barkley  sit  and  look  on.)" 

And  William  King  put  people  off  as  well  as 

he  could :  "  I  go  in  two  or  three  times  a  day,  just 

to  say  how  do  you  do ;  and  Miss  Annie  is  about 

and  can  bring  her  anything  she  needs.    And  Au- 

23  353 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

gustinc  is  very  faithful.  Of  course,  she  is  deaf 
as  a  post,  but  she  seems  to  know  what  Miss 
Harriet  wants." 

So  the  situation  was  accepted.  "  Here  I  am," 
she  told  the  doctor,  grimly,  "  dying  like  a  rat 
in  a  hole.  If  I  could  only  get  out-of-doors ! — or 
if  I  had  anything  to  do ! — I  think  it's  the  having 
nothing  to  do  that  is  the  worst.  But  I'll  tell  you 
one  thing,  Willy — I  won't  be  pitied.  Don't  have 
people  mourning  over  me,  or  pretending  that 
I'm  going  to  get  well.  They  know  better,  and 
so  do  I." 

Those  who  dared  to  pity  her  or  who  ventured 
some  futile  friendly  lie  about  recovery  were  met 
by  the  fiercest  impatience.  "  How  do  I  feel? 
Very  well,  thank  you.  And  if  I  didn't,  I  hope 
I  wouldn't  say  so.  I  hope  I'm  well  enough  bred 
not  to  ask  or  answer  questions  about  feelings. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  world  so  vulgar,"  she 
said,  and  braced  herself  to  one  or  another  im 
prudence  that  grieved  and  worried  all  the  kind 
hearts  that  stood  by,  eager  to  show  their  love. 

"  It  breaks  my  heart  to  see  her,  and  there's 
nothing  anybody  can  do  for  her,"  Mrs.  Barkley 
told  Dr.  Lavendar,  snuffling  and  wiping  her  eyes. 
"  She  positively  turned  Rachel  King  out  of  the 
house;  and  Maria  Wclwood  cried  her  eyes  out 
354 


THE   STUFFED-ANIMAL   HOUSE 

yesterday  because  she  was  so  sharp  with  her 
when  Maria  said  she  was  sorry  she  had  had  a 
bad  night  and  hoped  she'd  soon  feel  better." 

The  old  man  nodded  silently.  "  Poor  Miss 
Harriet !"  he  said. 

"  Don't  say  '  poor  Miss  Harriet !'  to  her.  Dr. 
Lavendar,  Harriet  and  I  have  been  friends  since 
we  were  put  into  short  dresses — and  she  spoke  to 
me  to-day  in  a  way — !  Well,  of  course,  I  shall 
go  back;  but  I  was  ready  to  say  I  wouldn't. 
And  she  treats  poor  old  Annie  outrageously." 

Dr.  Lavendar  nodded  again.  He  himself  had 
seen  her  several  times,  but  she  had  never  let  him 
be  personal :  "  Was  Mrs.  Drayton  still  gossip 
ing  about  her  soul?"  "Wasn't  it  nearly  time 
to  get  a  new  carpet  for  the  chancel?"  etc.,  etc. 
It  was  her  way  of  defending  herself — and  Dr. 
Lavendar  understood.  So  he  only  brought  her 
his  kindly  gossip  or  his  church  news,  and  he 
never  looked  at  her  mournfully ;  but  neither  did 
he  ever  once  refer  to  a  possible  recovery — that 
poor,  friendly  pretence  that  so  tries  the  soul  ab 
sorbed  in  its  own  solemn  knowledge ! 

But  in  the  afternoon,  after  his  talk  with  Mrs. 
Barkley,  the  old  man  went  plodding  up  the  hill 
to  the  Stuffed- Animal  House,  with  tender  and  re 
lentless  purpose  in  his  face.  It  was  a  serene  Sep- 
355 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

tember  day,  full  of  pulsing  light  and  fragrant 
with  the  late  mowing.  William  King's  mare  was 
hitched  to  a  post  by  the  green  gate  in  the  hedge, 
and  the  doctor  was  giving  her  a  handful  of  grass 
as  Dr.  Lavendar  came  up.  "  How  is  Miss  Har 
riet,  Willy?"  the  old  man  said. 

William  climbed  into  the  buggy  and  flicked 
with  his  whip  at  the  ironweed  by  the  road-side. 
"  Oh — about  the  same.  Dr.  Lavendar,  it's  cruel 
—it's  cruel !" 

"What's  cruel,  William?" 
"  I  can't  give  her  any  opiate — to  amount  to 
anything." 
"Why?" 
"  Her  heart." 

"  But  you  can't  let  her  suffer !" 
"  If  I  stopped  the  suffering,"  the  doctor  said, 
laconically,  "  it  would  be  murder." 
"  You  mean — 

"  Depressants,  to  amount  to  anything,  would 
kill  her." 

Dr.  Lavendar  looked  up  into  the  sky  silently. 
Willy  King  gathered  up  the  reins.  "And 
Annie?"  Dr.  Lavendar  said. 

"  She  is  just  a  poor,  frantic  child.     I  can't 
make  her  understand  why  Miss  Harriet  shouldn't 
have  two  powders,  when  one  '  sugar,'  as  she  calls 
356 


THE   STUFFED-ANIMAL   HOUSE 

it,  gives  her  a  little  comfort  for  a  little  while. 
She  says,  '  Harriet  wouldn't  let  a  squirrel  stay 
hurt.'  Miss  Harriet  says  she  told  her  the  other 
day  that  she  wasn't  a  squirrel ;  but  it  didn't  seem 
to  make  any  difference  to  Miss  Annie.  She  has 
a  queer  elemental  reasonableness  about  her, 
hasn't  she?  Well,  I  must  go.  Dr.  Lavendar, 
I — I  hope  you  won't  mind  if  I  say  that  perhaps 
— I  mean  she  doesn't  want  anybody  to  refer  to — 
to  anything  religious." 

"  William,"  said  the  old  man,  mildly,  "  if  you 
can  mention  anything  which  is  not  religious  to  a 
woman  who  is  going  to  die  within  a  very  few 
weeks,  I  will  consider  it." 

And  William  King  had  the  grace  to  blush 
and  stammer  something  about  Miss  Harriet's 
hating  anything  personal.  Dr.  Lavendar  listen 
ed  silently;  then  he  went  on  up  the  path  to  the 
Stuffed-Animal  House.  Old  Miss  Annie  let  him 
into  the  darkened  hall,  a  burst  of  western  sun 
shine  flooding  in  behind  him  and  making  the 
grim,  dead  creatures  dart  out  of  their  shadows 
for  a  moment,  and  sink  back  into  them  again 
when  the  door  was  shut.  The  old  child  had  been 
crying,  for  Miss  Harriet  had  turned  her  out  of 
her  room,  and  so  he  had  to  sit  there  in  the  hall, 
under  the  shark,  and  try  to  comfort  her  and  bid 
357 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

her  go  out  and  see  her  chickens.  But  for  once 
Miss  Annie  would  not  be  diverted : 

"  Harriet  wants  to  go  out-of-doors,  and  she 
can't.  And  she  is  hurt;  and  Willy  King  won't 
give  her  sugar  in  a  paper  to  stop  the  hurting. 
He  is  wicked." 

"  By-and-by,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar,  "  Harriet 
will  fall  asleep  and  not  be  hurt  any  more." 

"  Not  till  she  is  dead,"  Miss  Annie  said ;  "  Au 
gustine  told  me  so." 

"  I  meant  that,"  Dr.  Lavendar  said,  stroking 
the  poor,  gray  head  grovelling  against  his  knee. 

"  Then  why  didn't  you  say  so  ?  It  is  a  story 
to  say  sleep  when  you  mean  dead." 

"  I  ought  to  have  said  dead,"  he  acknowl 
edged,  gently,  "  so  that  you  could  understand. 
But  I  want  you  to  remember  that  death  is  a 
happy  sleep.  Will  you  remember  that?" 

"  A  happy  sleep,"  Miss  Annie  repeated ;  "  yes ; 
I  will  remember.  A  happy  sleep."  She  lifted 
her  head  from  his  knee  and  smiled.  "  I'll  go  and 
see  my  chickens,"  she  said. 

And  Dr.  Lavendar  took  his  way  up-stairs,  past 
the  cases  of  birds,  to  Miss  Harriet's  room.  She 
received  him  with  elaborate  cheerfulness. 

As  for  Dr.  Lavendar,  he  lost  no  time  in  pre 
tence.  "Miss  Harriet,"  he  said,  "I  am  not 
358 


A   HAPPY   SLEEP,     MISS    AXXIE    REPEATED 


THE   STUFFED-ANIMAL   HOUSE 

going  to  stay  and  talk  and  tire  you.  You've 
seen  people  enough  to-day — " 

"  I'm  not  tired  in  the  least." 

"But  I  have  a  word  to  say  to  you." 

She  looked  at  him  angrily.  I  would 
rather  not  talk  about  myself,  Dr.  Lavendar, 
please." 

"  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  yourself,"  he 
said. 

Her  face  cleared  a  little.  "  That's  a  relief. 
I  was  afraid  you  were  going  to  talk  to  me  about 
'  preparing,'  and  so  forth." 

A  sudden  smile  twinkled  into  Dr.  Lavendar's 
old  ej^es.  "  My  dear  Miss  Harriet,  you've  been 
6  preparing  '  for  fifty  years — or  is  it  fifty-one  ? 
I've  lost  count,  Harriet.  No;  you  haven't  got 
anything  to  do  about  dying;  dying  is  not  your 
business.  In  fact,  I  sometimes  think  it  never  is 
our  business.  Our  business  is  living.  Dying  is 
God's  affair." 

"  I  haven't  any  business,  that's  the  worst  of 
it,"  Miss  Harriet  said,  bitterly.  "  I've  nothing 
to  do — nothing  to  do  but  just  lie  here  and  wait. 
I  don't  mind  dying ;  but  to  be  here  in  this  trap, 
waiting.  And  I've  always  been  so  busy,  I  don't 
know  how  to  do  nothing." 

"  That's  what  I  wanted  to  say  to  you.    There 

24  359 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

is  something  you  can  do.     In  fact,  there's  some 
thing  you  must  do." 

"  Something  I  must  do?"  Miss  Harriet  said, 
puzzled. 

"  My  dear  friend,  you  must  meet  this  afflic 
tion;  you  can't  escape;  we  can't  save  you  from 
it.  But  there  is  one  thing  you  can  do :  you  can 
try  to  spare  the  pain  of  it  to  other  people.  Set 
yourself,  Miss  Harriet,  to  make  it  as  easy  as  you 
can  for  those  who  stand  by." 

Harriet  Hutchinson  looked  at  him  in  amaze 
ment.  No  pity?  No  condolences?  Nothing 
but  the  high  charge  to  spare  others.  "  You 
mean  my  temper?"  she  said  at  last,  slowly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar. 

Miss  Harriet  blushed  hotly.  "  It  is  bad ;  I 
know  it's  bad.  But—" 

"  Mine  would  be  worse,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar, 
thoughtfully.  "But  look  out  for  it,  Harriet. 
It's  getting  ahead  of  you." 

Miss  Harriet  nodded.     "  You're  right." 

"  You  see,  when  you  are  out  of  temper  it  shows 
you  are  suffering;  and  that's  hard  for  us  to 
bear — not  the  temper,  of  course,  but  the  knowl 
edge.  So  you've  got  to  spare  us,  Harriet.  Un 
derstand?" 

"  I  understand." 

360 


THE   STUFFED-ANIMAL   HOUSE 

"  It  will  be  hard  work  for  you,"  he  said,  cheer 
fully  ;  and  somehow  the  words  meant,  not  pity, 
but  "  Shoulder  arms!" 

For  an  instant  they  gazed,  eye  to  eye — the 
woman  devoured  by  pain,  the  old  man  with  his 
calm  demand ;  and  then  the  soul  of  her  rose  with 
a  shout.  What!  there  was  something  left  for 
her  to  do?  She  need  not  merely  sit  still  and  die? 
She  need  not  wait  idly  for  the  end?  It  was  a 
splendid  summons  to  the  mind — a  challenge  to 
the  body  that  had  dogged  and  humiliated  the 
soul,  that  had  wrung  from  her  good-humored 
courage  irritability  and  unjust  anger,  that  had 
dragged  her  pride  in  the  dust  of  shame,  yes, 
even — even  (alone,  and  in  the  dark),  but  even 
of  tears. 

"  Make  it  as  easy  as  possible  for  those  that 
stand  by" 

Some  might  say  that  that  austere  command 
was  the  lash  of  the  whip ;  but  to  Miss  Harriet  it 
was  the  rod  and  the  staff.  The  Spartan  old  man 
had  suddenly  revealed  to  her  that  as  long  as  the 
body  does  not  compel  the  soul,  there  is  no 
shame.  As  long  as  she  could  hold  her  tongue, 
she  said  to  herself,  she  need  not  be  ashamed. 
Let  the  body  whimper  as  it  may,  if  the  soul  is 
silent  it  is  master.  Miss  Harriet  saw  before  her, 
361 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

not  humiliation  and  idleness  and  waiting,  but 
fierce  struggle.  .  .  .  And  it  was  a  struggle.  It 
was  no  easy  thing  to  be  amiable  when  good  Maria 
Welwood  wept  over  her;  or  when  Martha  King 
told  her,  flatly  and  frankly,  that  she  was  doing 
very  wrong  not  to  make  more  effort  to  eat ;  or 
even  when  Mrs.  Dale  hoped  that  she  had  made 
her  peace  with  Heaven. 

"  Heaven  had  better  try  to  make  its  peace 
with  me,  considering,"  said  Miss  Harriet,  grim 
ly  ;  but  when  she  saw  how  she  had  shocked  Mrs. 
Dale,  she  made  haste  to  apologize.  "  I  didn't 
mean  it,  of  course.  But  I  am  nervous,  and  say 
things  to  let  off  steam."  Such  an  admission 
meant  much  from  Miss  Harriet,  and  it  certainly 
soothed  Mrs.  Dale. 

But  most  of  all,  Harriet  Hutchinson  forbade 
her  body  to  dictate  to  her  soul  when  Miss  Annie 
hung  whimpering  about  her  with  frantic  per 
sistence  of  pity.  Never  in  all  their  years  to 
gether  had  Miss  Harriet  shown  such  tenderness 
to  Annie  as  now,  when  the  poor  old  child's  mere 
presence  was  maddening  to  her.  For  Annie 
could  think  of  nothing  but  the  pain  which  could 
not  be  hidden,  and  her  incessant  entreaty  was 
that  it  should  be  stopped.  "Wouldn't  you 
rather  be  dead,  sister?" 

362 


THE   STUFFED-ANIMAL   HOUSE 

"  Yes,  Annie." 

"  Well,  then,  be  dead." 

"  I  can't,  Annie.  Now  let  us  talk  of  some 
thing  else.  Tell  me  what  the  black  hen  did  when 
the  speckled  hen  stole  her  nest." 

Annie  joyously  told  her  story,  as  she  had  told 
it  dozens  of  times  before ;  while  Harriet  Hutchin- 
son  turned  her  face  to  the  wall.  Annie  sat  on 
her  heels  on  the  floor  beside  the  bed,  rocking 
back  and  forth,  and  talking :  "  And  so  the  speck 
led  hen  flew  off.  Sister,  I'll  get  you  your  big 
bottle?" 

No  answer. 

"  Sister,  don't  you  want  to  smell  the  bottle  ?" 

"  No,  Annie.  No — no — no!  Oh,  Annie, 
don't  you  want  to  go  and  see  your  chickens?" 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  it  wouldn't  be  right,  Annie." 

"  Why  wouldn't  it  be  right,  sister?" 

"  Because,"  said  Harriet  Hutchinson —  be 
cause  I  suppose  that's  one  of  the  things  that 
would  <  make  it  harder  for  those  that  stand 
by.'  " 

"  I  don't  understand,"  poor  old  Annie  said, 
timidly. 

"  Well,  Annie,  that's  the  only  reason  I  know 
of.      Oh,  Annie,   Annie!   it   is  the  only   reason 
363 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

there  is ;  it  is  the  root  of  its  being  wrong."  .  .  . 
And  then  the  long  moan.  When  Miss  Annie 
heard  that  sound  she  shivered  all  over;  it  was 
the  elemental  protest  of  the  flesh,  which  cannot 
understand  the  regal  and  unconquered  soul. 

Those  were  hard  days  for  Willy  King,  what 
with  his  affection  and  his  sympathy  and  his  daily 
struggles  with  Miss  Annie ;  "  for  she  is  frantic," 
he  told  Dr.  Lavendar.  They  were  walking  up 
the  hill  together  in  the  late  afternoon.  Miss 
Harriet  had  sent  for  the  old  man,  on  whom  now 
she  leaned  even  more  than  on  William  King,  for 
Dr.  Lavendar  gave  her  granite  words  instead  of 
Willy's  tenderer  sympathy.  "  She  insists  that 
I  shall  give  Miss  Harriet  something — '  stuff  out 
of  Harriet's  bottle,'  she  says.  I  suppose  she 
means  chloroform.  I  wish  to  God  I  could." 

"  God  will  do  His  own  work,  William." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  but  it's  such  a  waste — this  courage 
that  fairly  breaks  our  hearts." 

"  Waste !  William,  what  are  you  talking 
about  ?  We  are  every  one  of  us  richer  for  it.  I 
told  her  so  yesterday." 

"  Well,"  ~  said    William    King,    thoughtfully, 

"  perhaps  so ;  in  this  case  we  are  richer,  I  admit, 

But  suppose  it  were  a  baby  that  was  suffering — • 

or  a  dog?    Only,  we  wouldn't  let  the  dog  suffer. 

364 


THE   STUFFED-ANIMAL   HOUSE 

Dr.  Lavendar,  one  of  these  days — you  and  I 
won't  live  to  see  it,  but  one  of  these  days — " 

"  There  is  Miss  Annie  now,"  said  Dr.  Laven-< 
dar.  "Why— look  at  her!" 

The  old  woman  came  fluttering  down  the  path 
towards  the  green  gate  in  the  privet  hedge;  she 
was  smoothing  her  hair  back  from  her  temples, 
with  her  strange,  girlish  gesture,  and  she  was 
smiling,  but  there  was  a  new  and  solemn  age  in 
her  face  that  made  the  two  men  look  at  each 
other,  startled  and  wondering. 

"  Dr.  Lavendar !  Willy !"  she  said,  her  voice 
breaking  with  joy,  "  Harriet  is  dead — oh,  Har 
riet  is  dead !" 

They  stopped  short  in  the  pathway.  "  What 
- — what?"  stammered  William  King. 

"  Oh,  Harriet  is  dead !"  the  old  woman  said ; 
"  and  I'm  so  happy."  She  came  and  leaned  on 
the  closed  gate  at  the  foot  of  the  path,  smiling 
up  into  their  faces.  "  She  isn't  hurt  any  more. 
Oh,  I  can  breathe,  I  can  breathe,  now,"  said  Miss 
Annie,  laying  her  withered  hands  upon  her  throat 
and  drawing  a  deep  breath. 

"  When?"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Oh,  just  a  little  while  ago.  As  soon  as  she 
got  dead  I  opened  the  windows  and  let  the  air 
blow  in ;  she  likes  the  wind  when  she  isn't  hurt." 
365 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

William  King  said,  suddenly,  "My  God!" 
and  turned  and  ran  up  the  path,  into  the  house, 
into  the  room,  where,  indeed,  there  was  no  more 
hurting. 

"  Annie,"  Dr.  Lavendar  said,  "  were  you  with 
her?" 

"  Yes,"  Miss  Annie  said.  "  Harriet  was  hurt 
very  much.  But  when  she  smelled  her  bottle  she 
stopped  being  hurt." 

Dr.  Lavendar  leaned  against  the  gate,  his 
breath  wavering ;  then  he  sat  down  on  the  grass, 
and  rested  his  forehead  on  his  hands  clasped  on 
the  top  of  his  stick.  He  was  unable  to  speak. 
Miss  Annie  came  out  into  the  road  and  looked 
at  him  curiously.  After  a  while  he  said,  feebly, 
"  Annie,  tell  me  about  it." 

"  Willy  wouldn't  give  Harriet  sugar  in  a 
paper  to  stop  the  hurting.  And  Harriet  said 
she  couldn't  get  her  bottle.  She  said  it  would 
be  wrong  for  her  to  get  it." 

Dr.  Lavendar  lifted  his  head  with  a  quick 
gesture  of  relief.  "  What !  Harriet,  didn't  get 
it  herself?" 

"  Oh  no,"  Miss  Annie  said.     "  I  got  it.     And 

I  went  into  Harriet's  room.     Harriet's  eyes  were 

shut,   and   she   was — was   moaning,"   said   Miss 

Annie,  shivering.     "  So  I  put  some  stuff  out  of 

366 


THE   STUFFED-ANIMAL   HOUSE 

the  bottle  on  a  towel  and  held  it  for  Harriet  to 
smell.  And  Harriet  opened  her  eyes  and  looked 
frightened,  and  she  said,  '  No,  no !'  And  I  said, 
*  Yes ;  I'm  the  oldest  and  you  must  do  what  I 
say.'  And  she  said,  '  Augustine !  Augustine  !' 
But  Augustine  can't  hear.  And  I  held  it  down 
and  I  said,  c  You  won't  be  hurt  any  more.'  And 
Harriet  pushed  it  away  and  said  '  No.'  And 
then  she  shut  her  eyes.  And  after  a  while  she 
didn't  say  anything  more.  And  I  held  it,  oh, 
a  long  time.  And  then  I  looked,  and  Harriet's 
eyes  were  shut.  And  now  she's  dead!  And  it 
doesn't  hurt  any  more.  You  come  and  look  at 
her,  and  you'll  see  it  doesn't  hurt  any  more. 
Now  she  wouldn't  thank  King  George  to  be  her 
uncle!  Oh,  she's  dead,"  said  Miss  Annie,  nod 
ding  her  head  and  laughing ;  "  a  happy  sleep." 
She  was  standing  there  in  the  dusty  road  in 
front  of  him,  telling  the  story,  her  hands  behind 
her,  rocking  slightly  backward  and  forward, 
like  a  child  repeating  a  lesson.  The  long  after 
noon  shadows  stretched  from  the  trees  across  the 
road,  and,  swaying  lightly,  flecked  her  gray 
head  with  sunshine. 

"  Annie,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar,  "  come  here  and 
sit  beside  me." 

She  came,  happily  enough,  and  let  him  take 
367 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

her  hand  and  hold  it,  patting  it  softly  for  a 
moment  before  he  spoke. 

"  Annie,  it  was  not  right  to  give  Harriet  the 
stuff  out  of  the  bottle;  our  Heavenly  Father 
stops  the  hurting  when  He  thinks  best.  So  it 
does  not  please  Him  for  us  to  do  it  when  we 
think  best." 

"But  Willy  gave  Harriet  one  sugar  in  a 
paper,  and  that  stopped  it  a  little,"  Miss  Annie 
said,  puzzled ;  "  and  if  he  stopped  it  a  little, 
why  shouldn't  it  all  be  stopped?"  The  obvious 
logic  of  the  poor  mind  admitted  of  no  answer — 
certainly  no  argument. 

Dr.  Lavendar  said,  gravely,  stroking  the 
hand,  as  wrinkled  as  his  own :  u  It  was  not 
right,  my  child.  You  will  believe  me  when  I  say 
so?  And  I  do  not  want  any  one  to  know  that 
you  did  a  thing  that  was  not  right.  So  I  want 
you  to  promise  me  now  that  you  will  not  tell  any 
one  that  you  did  it.  Will  you  promise  me?" 

"  Willy  knows  it,  I  guess,"  Miss  Annie  said. 

Dr.  Lavendar  was  silent.  Just  what  had  Will 
iam  heard  her  say?  Only  that  Miss  Harriet 
was  "  dead."  "  I  am  pretty  sure  that  Willy 
doesn't  know  it,"  he  said,  slowly.  "  And  I  am 
quite  sure  he  would  prefer  not  to  know  it ;  so  you 
mustn't  tell  him.  But  you  can't  understand 
368 


THE   STUFFED-ANIMAL   HOUSE 

about  that,  Annie.     You'll  just  have  to  believe 
me.     Will  you  promise  me?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  Miss  Annie  said,  indifferently, 
smiling  up  at  the  moving  leaves.  "  Oh,  Harriet 
isn't  hurt  now!" 

Dr.  Lavendar  trembled  with  anxiety.  "  I  want 
a  solemn  promise,  Annie.  What  do  the  children 
do  when  they  make  a  solemn  promise?" 

Miss  Annie  was  instantly  interested.  "  Why, 
they  cross  their  breast  and  say  '  honest  and 
true  ',•  don't  you  know?"  .  .  . 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Dr.  Lavendar,  slowly, 
"  you  will  make  a  promise  to  me  in  that  way." 
He  stood  up  and  took  her  hand,  his  face  very 
pale.  "  Promise  me  that  never,  so  long  as  you 
live,  will  you  tell  any  one — any  one,  Annie — 
that  you  made  Harriet  fall  asleep  by  giving  her 
the  big  bottle  to  smell.  Now,  make  the  promise, 
Annie." 

Miss  Annie  slowly  crossed  her  breast.  "  I 
promise,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice;  her  eyess 
widening  with  awe,  were  fixed  on  his  face.  "  \ 
promise : 

"  Honest  and  true, 

Black  and  black  and  blue, 
Lay  me  down 
And  cut  me  in  two — 
if  I  do." 

2*  369 


DR.    LAVENDAR'S    PEOPLE 

"Amen!"  said  Dr.  Lavendar;  and  took  off 
his  hat,  and  stood  looking  up  into  the  sky,  his 
lip  trembling.  "Father,"  he  said,  "I  don't 
even  say  '  forgive  her !'  She  is  Thy  little  child." 
And  then  they  stood  for  a  moment  hand  in  hand 
in  the  sunny  silence. 


THE    END 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


1937 


LD21-100m-7,'33 


YB  74452 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


